


Like A Duck to Water

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: After Sunhill, M/M, Occasional swearing, Post recovery for Craig, clean sheets, full frontal nudity, hundred percent Gina Gold Free, meetings of minds and bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24180601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!Story written by - BaxterAuthors Notes from website: The Angry Duckling is entirely fictitious. To the author’s knowledge no such book exists, nor was it based on or derived on any book, story or poem. The name of the duck is one remembered by the author from a nursery rhyme. The story, as described here, is original and remains the property of the author.
Relationships: Luke Ashton/Craig Gilmore
Kudos: 4





	Like A Duck to Water

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Baxter
> 
> Authors Notes from website: The Angry Duckling is entirely fictitious. To the author’s knowledge no such book exists, nor was it based on or derived on any book, story or poem. The name of the duck is one remembered by the author from a nursery rhyme. The story, as described here, is original and remains the property of the author.

Lead up  
Friday, January 2nd, 2004

Craig has ducks on the brain.

He is driving home from Wales after spending Christmas and New Year with his family. The world through his windscreen is bleak. He sees leftover scraps from Christmas everywhere – wilting decorations in the trees in some small villages, gaudy signs in shop windows offering Season’s Greetings, deflating Santas hanging from chimneys, crusty with snow and ice.

He’s good now, Craig. The only visible reminder of the time he spent at Sun Hill is a small jagged scar on his face. Superficially he’s back to the man he was Before Luke; professional, hard but fair, grumpy but good – take your pick.

His feelings for Luke – well, he avoids thinking about them.

It was a nice Christmas. Craig has four brothers and sisters, three of whom are married with children. It was wonderful to catch up, great to play with the kids, nice be amongst the people who have known you so long and so well, who love you so much.

Happy duck.

There he goes again. Ducks on the brain.

Craig gave three year old Joshua a book called The Angry Duckling. It was a bit thin on plot, at least for a thirty three-year-old man. Young Joshua, however, found it gripping. By the time Craig is ready to return to London both he and Josh can actually tell the story without opening the book; Craig calculates he read the story to his nephew twenty eight times in the nine day period he spent with his family.

The Angry Duckling is about a duckling called Ducky Duddles who goes through a series of mood swings. Craig is no infant psychologist, but he assumes The Angry Duckling aims to teach children about their moods, how to conduct oneself after a tantrum, and that it’s all right to be sad or angry sometimes.

It had beautiful illustrations. The opening plate featured an angry Duddles, his unformed duckling wings extended and an irritated sneer on his beak, chasing a bee that was trying to sting him. Little butter yellow feathers flew in his wake.

Craig has been on the receiving end of anger like that. He remembers it well, but tries not to think about it anymore. 

He thinks instead of Duddles, and of Joshua’s pure face as he watched the emotions change from page to page. Happy duck, sad duck, frightened duck, worried duck.

It’s a long drive home. Craig still lives in the same house; on the surface his life hasn’t changed much at all in the last year. He’s still single, still lonely, still a policeman.

Tired duck, Craig says to himself when he is getting into his own bed that night.

Day 1.

Craig starts the new working year with a cup of coffee as he stares grimly out his foggy kitchen window. Funny how time flies. Funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

Resigned duck.

He transferred to Carlton Crescent Station last April. It’s one of the large new police centres that are springing up all over London; it’s a couple of suburbs on from Sun Hill.

He is in a bad mood the moment he enters his office on his first day back form his break. There is a truckload of paperwork, scores of e-mails and the usual amount of half-finished tasks that no one else could be bothered to address and simply dumped in his office.

Lazy ducks.

He closes the door to his office and starts with the tedious paperwork, the things he knows require only a signature and can then be filed.

By half past ten Craig has made good progress. The boring official correspondences and newsletters are all finished, so he can start on the crime reports, which are photocopies of incidents his relief had attended over the last four days.

But first he feels he would like a juice.

Thirsty duck, he says to himself as he makes his way down to the canteen.  
He chooses a pineapple juice in a glass bottle and is as aloof as always with members of his relief who are taking refs in the canteen. They are terrified of him, and offer respectful, muttered greetings.

He nods a diffident hello and makes his way back to his paperwork. 

The forms offer the usual grab bag of crimes: heartbroken people, bad judgements and mealy minded small time criminals all told in the appalling grammar and woeful spelling Craig has come to expect as a uniformed sergeant. He reads and signs each incident with care, refraining from actually adding a full stop or correcting a misspelling.

Craig is concentrating and absorbed when a name on the next form seems to flash at him in neon lights.

ASHTON, LUKE  
25 YEARS  
CANLEY VALE  
ASSAULT  
ST SIMIAN’S HOSPITAL  
NFA  
(POSSIBLE WALLET ASSAULT)

The report outlines an attack on a young man who was taken to casualty at St Simians in nearby Canley Street. The young man was conscious, it appears he had been taken the hospital by ambulance at the insistence of the attending officers but discharged himself a few hours later.

Outside of giving his name, age and address, the young man had not been co-operative with the police at all. Hence NFA – no further action.

Secretive duck.

The constable who filed the report – one Johnny Proctor – suggests in his brief details that the victim might have fallen prey to a person known only as the Wallet Basher. This case, with which Craig is very familiar, involves a tall man who picks up other men in gay bars, goes home to their place with them and either assaults them on the way home and steals their wallet, or steals their wallets and other goods if he manages to stay the night with them.

In this instance, the victim, Luke Ashton, was robbed of his wallet on the way home.

Craig reads the single page report over and over.

Luke. Craig hasn’t seen Luke for nearly a year, not since he slipped out of the hospital after Kerry with a deceptively simple, “See ya, Sarge,” a farewell so sad it sounded almost like an apology.

Craig had no idea what became of him. He decided that if he ever meant anything to Luke, Luke would come looking for him.

He never did.

Craig reads the form again. It appears that Luke is still living in the same area, and if he’s married or in the police force he’s not talking about it.

Craig goes looking for Proctor to get some more details. He finds him on duty in the CAD room.

“Oh, the bloke at St Simians,” Proctor says as he reads the form Craig has handed him. “Gay bashing thing, wasn’t it?”

“I’m asking you,” Craig says patiently.

“Well, it looked that way,” Proctor says with no certainty at all. “At least, I thought it was.”

“Had he been to a club?”

“A gay club?”

“Yes,” Craig says calmly.

Proctor thinks for a moment, a creased frown of concentration across his young face. Well, it was a few nights ago now.

“I think the doctor said he’s been to a club. Or one of the nurses. Can’t remember, Sarge. Sorry.”

Idiot duck.

“Thanks,” Craig says briefly and goes back to his paper work.

It makes him a little sad to file Luke away amongst so many other tragedies and misdemeanours.

As Craig eats alone in front of the telly that night his thoughts keep wandering back to Luke, sullen in a hospital, sore and sorry.

Hurting duck.

Day 2

Craig is woken by a phone call at five past five in the morning. It is Inspector Peter Bartlett, who explains the custody sergeant has gone home with a blinding migraine.

“I know you’re not rostered until nine...” he says desperately.

Craig starts work at quarter to six.

Sleepy duck.

He processes three people before he checks the arrests already entered into the computer.

There’s a drunk, a young woman who was caught breaking into the house of her former employer, a young skinhead who tried to rob a taxi driver and a young man who was arrested for assault.

Once more, the name flashes before Craig in neon lights.

ASHTON, LUKE  
IC1  
ASSAULT

He’s in cell four.

Craig gingerly opens the hatch to check on the prisoner. He is sits scowling and cross-legged on the bunk and doesn’t look up.

Angry duck.

Craig takes a big breath as he unlocks the door. The keys seem unsteady in his hand.

Luke still doesn’t look up, even though he knows someone has entered the cell. This lack of response throws Craig, and for a second he’s not sure what to say.

“Do you want breakfast?” is what comes to him after a second or two.

Oh, the voice. Luke looks up sharply, stares long and hard but says nothing.

“Hello, Luke,” Craig says quietly. But Luke looks away, his face blacker and angrier.

“You’ve been in the wars,” Craig tries again. He wants so badly to talk.

Luke lifts his face and glares.

“Do you want breakfast?” Craig asks again. Luke seems to implode. 

“FUCK OFF,” he roars at Craig suddenly, hate flaming in his eyes. “JUST FUCK OFF.”

And Craig just stands there for a second, shocked and truly wounded by this outburst. It was the last thing he expected. He looks at Luke, now red in the face, shifting angrily to turn his face away from Craig’s sight.

The greatest shock was not the outburst – Craig has been sworn at by people in custody for years - and not even the fact it was Luke, because he is very familiar with Luke’s unpredictable nature. What shocked him was the hurt when he realised Luke was not even marginally pleased to see him. That all he could muster for Craig was loathing and mistrust.

Craig closed the door hard behind him.

Nasty duck.

Still on day two

Luke’s issue, as usual, demanded a degree of patience and skill to sort.

The person who alleged Luke had attacked him reported to the station later that morning to make a formal statement.

“Can you take the statement?” Rima asked. She was flat out with an informant who was providing unsubstantiated, but seemingly valuable, information which could lead to her team breaking a people smuggling ring.

“I’m on custody,” Craig explained, exasperated.

“I’ll do custody, you take the statement, Craig,” Inspector Bartlett said, a few feet behind Rima. “Rima, go and check on that snout now, and call me as soon you as hear anything. And I mean anything.”

And he chased Rima and Craig away to do his bidding.

The person making the complaint against Luke was not likable. Craig has him in an interview room as he fills out the forms with him.

“I mean, you can’t do that,” he says to Craig of Luke’s behaviour. “e said ‘e’d come home with me, and I thought ‘e was up for it. Then ‘e just changed ‘is mind, and was gunna walk out on me.”

“Did he threaten you?” Craig asks.

“When?”

“When he arrived back to your house with you.”

The unlikable man shakes his head. He is about thirty five, tallish, darkish and appears to maintain a rather indifferent standard of personal cleanliness. He smells strongly of tobacco and his clothes are rumpled.

Filthy duck.

“No. ‘e, well, you know, we started..,” the man makes embarrassed little gestures while flares of jealousy burst through Craig. “You know, we were getting ready to, you know, make some whooppee, and ‘e just stops, and then grabs ‘is coat and says ‘e doesn’t want to any more.”

Craig takes notes.

“What did you do?”

“I got angry!” Unlikable says with big smile. “You know, I was up for it, and ‘e was just gonna walk out on me! So I grabbed ‘im a bit and told ‘im to stay. Then ‘e gets antsy and starts swearing at me.”

“When you say you grabbed him, how exactly did you grab him?”

“I just, I dunno, I grabbed ‘im on the arm and tried to, you know, give ‘im a bit of a kiss.”

“What did he do?” Craig really doesn’t’ want to know.

“’e pushed me away, little bastard,” Unlikable says with a sneer. “Starts gettin’ all stroppy with me, telling me to back off. I mean, I wasn’t forcin’ ‘im. ‘E came there willingly. When we ‘ad a drink, like I told you, ‘e was well up for it, ‘e knew what we were going to do.”

“What were you going to do?” Craig is starting to hate this man.

“Oh, whaddya think we was going to do? ‘e was well ready for it. ‘e wanted to.”

“Well, if he was willing, don’t you think it’s likely he would have stayed and done it?” Craig suggested through gritted teeth.

“Well ‘e bloody should have, little prick teasing bitch,” Unlikable said angrily. “Started pushing me around, and then ‘e did this,” and he points to a small mauve coloured graze near his eye.

“He hit you?” Craig checks.

“Yes. Well, sorta. I mean, ‘e didn’t actually hit me, like in punch me, but ‘e pushed me and I sort of fell against one of me potplants. And it broke the plant and scratched me. I mean, it could have knocked me eye out!”

“And then what did he do?”

“Then ‘e just grabs his coat and tries to leave, but the neighbours had already called the coppers and they nicked the little bastard,” Unlikable says smugly.

Craig thinks for a moment as he taps his pen against the form.

“So let me get this straight. You met Mr Ashton at a pub, you both decided to go back to your place, Mr Ashton changes his mind when he gets there and when he tries to leave you tried to stop him. He then became agitated and pushed you.” Craig sits back and folds his arms across his chest.

“Well, sort of, I mean, you’re makin’ this sound like it was my fault. It wasn’t! That little bastard is a tease and ‘e made me angry, ‘e ‘ad no right to do that!”

“Thank you Mr Olsen,” Craig says, making it clear he has heard all he needs to. “Wait here while I type this up and I’ll get you to sign it.”

“But what’ll happen to ‘im, what about me plant?” but he stops abruptly and something in his tone makes Craig suspicious.

“What kind of plant was it?”

Mr unlikable Olsen stumbles for a few seconds.

“It’s a, ah, it one of them bamboo type thingies,” he stammers.

“I’ll be back shortly,” and Craig goes to check on a couple of things.

It turns out that Mr Olsen is rather well known for his plants and has twice been charged with possession of marijuana with intent to sell. He also has a record for a few other minor things including shoplifting and receiving stolen goods.

Dishonest duck.

When Craig comes back to discuss horticulture with Mr Olsen, the unwashed man is already on his way out.

“Forget it!” he is says angrily to Craig. “I’m not interested in this. I just wanna go ‘ome.”

“Are you withdrawing your complaint?” Craig asks.

“Yes I’m withdrawing the bloody complaint. You just tell that little bastard that if I see ‘im..,”

Craig, who has been following the ugly man out the front door, grabs him sharply by the arm.

“Let me tell you that if I ever hear or see of you again trying that on any young man I’ll make it my personal crusade to have you charged with attempted rape.”

Mr Olsen can’t think of an answer, for he hadn’t considered that his advances on Luke were in fact tantamount to assault. Between his fear for his plants and the incredibly terrifying way that Craig is gripping his arm, Mr Olsen cannot get away quickly enough.

“You’re free to leave,” Craig tells Luke when he opens the door to his cell a few minutes later.

Luke looks up, surprised.

“Mr Olsen has withdrawn the complaint so you’re free to leave.” Craig doesn’t look at him, or exercise any emotion in his voice, just makes a sweeping gesture with his hand to indicate that Luke can go.

“Did you hand anything over last night?”

“Just my jacket and my phone,” Luke says in a quiet voice. He searches Craig’s face almost eagerly, looking for any kind of tenderness, any of the kindness that was there before Luke swore at him.

Craig retrieves Luke’s belongings from the evidence cupboard.

“One leather jacket, one mobile phone, six pounds forty pence. Is that right?”

Luke nods his head and holds his hands out to retrieve the items. Craig places them roughly on the desk.

“The door’s over there,” is all he tells Luke, and walks back to the evidence locker, where he waits until Luke is gone.

Hurtful duck.

Luke, more sad and confused than ever, walks all the way home to his mother’s place where he is now living.

Craig is grumpier and more unapproachable for the rest of the day and does not get home until late. In his weariness he forsakes dinner for the lure of a good’s night’s sleep.

  
Day 3

It’s Craig’s fault.

Another cool January day. Luke gets up early, hears on the radio that a terrible storm is brewing off the channel, eats a good breakfast and makes his way over to the small aged facility where he has part time work as a porter.

It’s Craig’s fault, he sulks on the way to work.

He likes working with the old people, and they all like Luke. He is gentle and friendly, and although he has only had the job for a few months, it has been long enough for Luke to work out his true vocational calling.

He has enrolled to start his degree in nursing with the second semester intake in March.

Luke has had less success assessing other parts of his life. Sorting his private life, his sexuality and how he will deal with that, has been difficult. He has little confidence in himself and very little awareness of what he wants in a relationship or whether he really wants a relationship at all.

All he knows is that he blames Craig for everything. It all went wrong because of Craig. Luke has harboured all kinds of rages and hatreds against Craig since he last saw him hospital. They are blind, shapeless rages that Luke can never understand and never get a handle on.

Lots of things cause these rages; waking up next to strange men, waking up alone, sitting on his bed trying to sort through what he is feeling or what he wants. Craig comes and goes through Luke in waves, although he had not thought about him for several days – not until his voice slipped through the frigid air of the cell and squeezed his heart again.

He has been brooding about Craig ever since.

By the time he gets home from work early on that grey cold afternoon, Luke is positively seething at Craig. His thwarted anger and hideous run of bad luck over the last week has made him more fractious.

When the storm hits London Luke is already walking to Craig’s house.

When he gets to Craig’s front door Luke is drenched.

Craig is curled up on his couch watching one of the movies his brother (who runs Swansea’s largest music and video store) gave him for Christmas. It has no ducks, but Craig still has ducks on the brain. His thoughts are running along the lines of nice weather for ducks when he answers his door; he does not question, at least not at first, why anyone would be visiting him in this weather at 9pm at night.

Least of all a sodden Luke.

Drowned duck, thinks Craig when he opens the front door.

Luke barely notices how wet he is; he is shaking with rage.

“Yes?” is all Craig, still resentful at the way Luke spoke to him yesterday, can say.

Luke erupts with pent up hostility just at the sight of him.

“This is all your fault!” he steams with blazing eyes.

Craig is completely thrown by this seemingly irrelevant statement, and assumes Luke means the weather. He gapes at Luke, who is shaking like a reed under the porch light. It is teeming with rain; the heavy drops glow silver under the streetlights.

“I was happy until you came along!” Luke yells at him. “You ruined everything!”

“What are you talking about?” Craig is indignant but genuinely curious.

“This whole - the marriage thing, you at Sun Hill – everything! The whole mess! It’s all your fault!”

Craig wonders if Luke is shaking from cold or anger.

“I didn’t want this!” Luke yells. “I never asked to do this, I wanted to be a fucking copper, and just have a normal life! You fucked up my whole life!”

Rain continues to pour on Luke who is blinking aggressively through the large drops splashing off his brow and lashes. In his fury he seems oblivious to the fact he soaking; Craig can see the young man’s hands are trembling while fat little veins bulge at his temple. It occurs to Craig to just give him a clip across the chops and send him home, but he knows it is more, much, much more than a simple badly timed outburst.

It happens to everyone when they come out.

“You can’t stand out there,” Craig says, stern but concern overriding his confusion. “Come inside.”

“I don’t want to come inside! I’m not staying!” I’ve just…” but when he tries to tell Craig what he just doing or thinking, he finds he can’t.

“Come inside,” Craig says again, and when Luke just stands there, Craig starts to lose his temper.

“Luke, it’s freezing and I’m not interested your tantrums anymore. If you want to talk come in, and if you’re stupid enough to come over here in the rain just to insult me you can piss off now.”

The tone seems to shake a bit of sense into Luke and he takes two steps inside. He is soaking, and a puddle starts to form where he is standing. Craig looks down at the growing dampness that forms beneath Luke on his hall rug, and is suddenly filled with the familiar exasperation that only Luke can incite in him.

Meanwhile Luke, whose sopping clothes are clinging his skin, starts to shake with cold. His face is bright white, his eyes alarmingly dark in contrast. Water shines through his short hair and runs freely down his face.

Stupid duck.

“You’re soaking,” Craig says with some distaste. “I’ll get you some dry clothes.”

“I don’t want…”

“I don’t want sopping furniture and rugs!” Craig snaps, and points upstairs. “Wait in the bathroom and I’ll get you some dry clothes. Towels are on the rack. Use them.” 

The towel rack is heated too; they’re cosy and warm against Luke’s clammy skin.

Craig knocks before he opens the door slightly and hands him, not looking, a pair of thick brushed cotton tracksuit pants, a tshirt, a fleece and a pair of thick black socks. They’re miles too big but very warm and very comforting.

Luke sits down on the edge of the bathtub when he is dressed. He has no idea what to do. 

“You decent?” Craig asks after a fair interval.

“Yeah,” Luke says quietly.

Craig comes in and gathers the sopping clothes. “Wait for me down stairs.” And, kindly soul he is, he puts the wet clothes in the washing machine to wring them properly, and hangs Luke’s jacket and boots in the airing cupboard.

He finds Luke standing sheepishly between the lounge and the kitchen. All his rage has vanished, now he’s just cold and frightened.

In the same way Luke can flood Craig with exasperation, he can also flood him with a crushing urge to hold and protect. This urge hits Craig when he comes downstairs and sees the frightened pale young man just standing there, swamped by the loose clothes, too scared to take his eyes off him.

Craig doesn’t know what to do.

“I’ll make some tea,” he decides. “Wait in the lounge. I’ll bring it in.”

When he brings the hot drinks Luke is half perched in one of the single lounge chairs.

“What’s the movie?” he asks Craig.

“Midnight Cowboy,” Craig answers.

It looks interesting. Craig, for one, has really been looking forward to watching it. Luke, for another, really doesn’t want to talk about anything.

So, strangely enough, they don’t say another word but sit and watch the entire movie.

They both really enjoyed it, even though the sad ending has made them a little wistful.

“So you want to talk?” Craig asks half heartedly as he points the remote at the DVD and switches it off.

Luke is exhausted, He doesn’t want to do anything but sleep.

“Not really,” he mumbles.

Tongue tied duck.

“Me neither,” Craig replies. “You tired?”

Luke nods.

“So am I.” He is no mood to hear how he ruined Luke’s life.

“Well, you want to stay here?” Luke looks up with wide eyes. “I’ve got a spare room,” Craig adds instantly.

It is still pouring outside, it’s late. In any case, Luke wants to stay.

As he snuggles down in under the clean sheets and cosy sweet smelling duvet in Craig’s spare room, Luke has half-baked dozing thoughts of wanting to say here, near enough but distant enough from Craig, forever.

He sleeps soundly until eight o’clock the next morning.

Day Four 

Weary duck, Craig smiles to himself when he carefully and noiselessly checks on the sleeping Luke the next morning. 

The storm has passed; it leaves no trace, not even clouds.

Luke, who has slept in Craig’s too-large clothes, puts the thick black socks back on and pads down to the kitchen, sleepy and a little disorientated.

Craig has been at work for an hour and a half when Luke looks around the kitchen, but he has left Luke a series of helpful notes and taken some hopeful guesses at what Luke might like for breakfast.

He has left out a bowl, cereal, bread, a mug and the coffee.

Luke reads all the little notes carefully.

The first one tells him how to turn off the heating.

The second one explains how to use the stove.

The third one gives details of the towels available in the linen closet.

The fourth one reminds Luke that his clothes are washed and draped over the heater. 

The fifth one adds that his boots and coat are still in the airing cupboard.

The sixth one tells him how to lock the front door and suggests he leave the spare key in the pot plant.

Luke reads the little pile of notes over and over as he eats muesli with warm milk. They make him chuckle.

Then he has a shower. When he hops out he has a good scout through Craig’s bathroom cabinet. He reads the shampoo bottle, smells the two colognes, sniffs warily at the Clarins after shaving balm and makes liberal use of Craig’s deodorant.

Then he cleans up the kitchen.

When he’s wiped the last of the dishes and stacked them away, he looks at all the things in Craig’s neat pantry. He notes that Craig seals half-full bags of pasta with clothes pegs, and that Craig has many spices.

Then he looks at all the cleaning products under the sink.

Satisfied with Craig’s choice of abrasive cleansers, Luke wanders through the lounge and looks at all the framed photos of Craig’s family and friends. They make him smile. He leans over the desk and stares at the framed photograph of Craig’s graduating class at Hendon that hangs on the wall. It takes him a few seconds to find Craig, a few seconds to remember that he would need to search the back rows.

Young Craig looks proud and happy, and the image makes Luke smile again. He looks around him, at the things Craig has brought into his life from the time he graduated.

There is neatness about the room, but it’s not too prissy and not too restrictive.

When Luke goes to find his boots in the airing cupboard he stumbles across Craig’s small laundry which is slightly less neat than the rest of the house. Luke has a look at the clean squashed up clothing waiting to be ironed. There are four shirts, two tee shirts, a pair of jeans, three pairs of underpants, two tea towels, a pair of dark pillowcases and a fitted bedsheet. He smells one of the shirts, but it is clean and neutral, no trace of Craig.

Luke irons the lot. He leaves the pile neat and clean in the basket, except for the shirts, which he slips on empty hangers and puts in the airing cupboard.

Before he leaves for work, he makes his bed.

He starts at eleven today, and will finish at three.

He whistles on the way to the bus stop, his hand in his pocket, still clutching the key to Craig’s front door.

Craig is sitting at his desk thinking of all the things he didn’t do or say last night. I didn’t ask him if he is still married, I didn’t ask him about the attack, I didn’t ask him anything of any use.

And, worse of all, Craig realises that he didn’t ask Luke, or even leave a note to check whether they could get together and talk properly soon. He’s not even sure if they should.

Craig sighs and continues his filing. He’s nearly finished.

While he’s driving home Craig’s thoughts wander between Luke in general, Luke specifically standing soaking at his door in a passionate rage and Luke in Craig’s clothes, repentant and frightened.

Confused duck.

As he slips the key into front door, Craig is wondering what it is he does that frightens Luke. Then he wonders why his house smells so good, and why there are pleasant noises in the kitchen.

Luke can make three dishes very well – chicken soup, roast chicken and chicken curry. He can make a few other things but he is most confident with chicken.

Craig stands at his kitchen doorway and stares at Luke, who is guarding a bubbling pot on the stove.

Cooking duck.

“I’ve made you chicken soup,” Luke says with a bright smile, as if he has kept an important promise.

Craig is speechless.

“Do you like chicken?” Luke asks with a slightly alarmed face. He hadn’t factored in Craig’s tastes or dislikes when he planned his menu.

“I love chicken,” Craig says truthfully. He wants to say that chicken is not really the issue, but he is too surprised to speak at all.

“Good,” Luke says with a satisfied face. “Do you want to eat now, or do you want to …” he is about to say ‘slip into something more comfortable’, but that’s not quite right and he cannot think of an alternative.

The rich spicy smell of the soup has saturated Craig’s palette and his mouth is watering.

“I’m starving,” he says.

They eat Luke’s fine soup together at the table and chat about their day. Luke tells Craig about the hospital for the aged where he works, and Craig tells Luke about the filing and the impending raid on the people smugglers.

“They’re all women,” Luke explains about his work.

“Is a home for old women?”

“No, it’s just that they live longer. There were some old blokes, but they died.”

This reminds Craig of something important.

“So … have you left the force?” he asks as helps himself to a second bowl of soup.

“Yes.” Luke answers as if he being chastised. “I left last June.”

Craig sits back down. “What about Kerry?”

“She stayed,” Luke says shortly. “We’re divorced.”

“Has she had the baby?”

“She lost the baby,” Luke says baldly.

“Ahh,” Craig answers. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“I haven’t seen her since I left Sun Hill,” he adds. “So do you like the soup?”

“I love the soup,” Craig tells him, relieved to be back on neutral ground. “Is it your recipe?”

“It’s nan’s recipe. But I added the pasta. She uses rice.”

They talk about Luke’s nan for a bit, and then they talk about Craig’s nan, and this leads to more talk of the facility where Luke works and the nans who live there.

“So are you going to stay there?” Craig wonders.

Luke smiles broadly. “I’ve been accepted to do my degree in nursing!”

“That’ s great!”

Nurse duck!

They wash up together and talk about nursing as a career for men.

Then Craig isn’t sure what to do.

“Can we watch another movie?” Luke asks as he hangs the damp tea towel over the rack near the sink.

Sounds reasonable. “Sure,” Craig says.

Tonight they watch Reservoir Dogs. They find it violent and absorbing and very anti-cop.

Day Five

Craig’s finished his filing and is currently setting up the spreadsheet to do his quarterly report. He always stuffs this up, so is being careful and attentive.

His thoughts keep going back to his shower this morning. Nothing particular happened, except – when he reached over to the sink to grab his toothbrush – he found there were two toothbrushes in the toothbrush mug. His own, and a strange purple toothbrush with white stripes.

There was also another small tube of toothpaste in the bathroom cabinet, presumably owned by the person who owned the striped purple toothbrush.

Craig jumps when his phone rings and accidentally erases a line on the spreadsheet.

“Hello Girlfriend!” the cheerful male caller says.

“Hello Sean,” Craig smiles.

They are good friends now. Sean has gone back to his old boyfriend who, as Craig accurately suspected, he was still seeing even when he lived with Craig. Regardless, they’ve managed to salvage a very good friendship from the ashes of their aborted romance.

Craig lets Sean go first, and listens to details of his recent holiday in Turkey, the renovations on their kitchen and how much he hates his job.

“So what about you?” Sean asks when he’s run out of news.

Craig explains the Luke situation as best he can.

“What? He’s moved in?” Sean asks, confused.

“I think so,” Craig answers.

“Was he there this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“He was asleep.”

“In your bed?”

“No, I told you, he sleeps in the spare room.”

Sean is having a hard time putting this together. 

“So he came around to abuse you, stayed and watched a movie, stayed the night in your spare room, made you dinner last night, watched another movie, stayed in the spare room again and was still there this morning?”

“Yes,” Craig confirms, swallowing hard.

“Have you ASKED him what he’s playing at?”

Craig takes two breaths. “No.”

“Are you GOING to ask him what he’s playing at?”

Craig says nothing.

“Aren’t you even curious?” Sean asks.

“Well, sort of, I mean, I want to know what….”

“You don’t want to scare him off, do you?” Sean is accusing but friendly.

Craig still says nothing.

“I mean, confrontation and dealing verbally with big issues aren’t your strongest points in a relationship, are they, honey?”

Craig smiles. All of his fights with Sean centred on Craig’s refusal, reluctance or inability to discuss emotional issues.

“No,” he concedes.

“Is he out?” Sean wonders.

“Not quite.”

Sean considers the Luke issue carefully.

Analytical duck.

“I’m not sure,” is his initial diagnosis. “You’ll have to keep me updated.”

That night Craig goes home to a tasty chicken curry, hears details about the nans who are organising a crochet group and tells Luke about the quarterly report.

They watch The Usual Suspects.

Day Six

Craig wakes up on this dry, clear Saturday at half past seven.

He wonders if Luke is using the bathroom.

“Well, it’s my house,” Craig decides when his bladder feels as if it will split. But the bathroom is empty.

When he has restored his equilibrium, Craig checks to see if Luke is still asleep. Instead of a dozing Ashton he finds the bed made, then does a double take at the bedside table, where sits a strange digital clock, a book and a small framed photo, none of which belong to Craig.

He ponders this as makes his way downstairs to the kitchen.

Luke appears as Craig is making porridge.

“Porridge?” Craig asks affably, holding an empty bowl to illustrate his point.

“Oh! I love porridge!” Luke grins. He has been to get the papers.

So they sit around for a bit, reading the papers and eating porridge.

“I have a double shift today,” Luke tells Craig as they wash the dishes.

“Is that good?”

Luke nods. “It means I make more money. What are you doing today?”

“I told Sean I’d drop around and help.”

“Sean? Your ex Sean?” Luke asks briskly.

“Ex Sean,” Craig confirms, watching Luke closely.

“Are you seeing him again?” Luke asks with a slightly tight face.

Jealous duck!

Craig tries desperately to suppress his pleasure but a little sparkle sneaks through his eyes. “No. He went back to his old partner after we broke up.”

“How old?” Luke asks.

“Who?”

“The old partner.”

“Thirty six. I meant former partner. The one before me.”

Luke assesses this and the tenseness that gripped his chest and shoulders dissipates. “What are you going to help him do?”

“He’s putting up picture rails. I said I’d help.”

“Will the partner be there?”

A bit more pleasure shimmers in Craig’s eyes. “Yes.”

They look each other in the eye for a few seconds. Luke realises that he has just made his feelings very transparent, Craig realises he has a comfortable opportunity to extract some information of his own. He goes in quickly.

“Who bashed you?”

Luke quickly calculates whether to confirm or deny this, but Craig’s eyes are very powerful.

“A bloke I met at the pub.”

“Did he take your wallet?”

“He did but it only had twelve quid in it.”

“Nothing else?”

Luke shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I heard there was a guy going around bashing gays for their wallets and decided to play it safe.” Luke says this with a sort of smugness.

Craig nods with approval.

“Would you recognise him again?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you make a complaint?”

“I didn’t want it on record that I pick guys up in pubs.”

“Fair enough.” Craig’s gaze holds fast. “Did he hurt you?”

Luke lowers his eyes. “Nothing serious. Winded me, then smacked me in the mouth and I fell backwards. A couple on the other side of the street saw it and put the call through.”

Luke lifts his face and they stare at each others’ eyes a bit longer, then have exhausted their emotional bravery for one day.

“I have to get to work,” Luke says.

“Sure.”

Craig is still in place in the kitchen when Luke comes back wrapped in his coat and scarf.

“Have a good day,” Luke says, friendly yet a little nervous. “Hope the picture rails go okay.”

“Thanks. You have a good day too.”

And Luke stands there for a second too long, wondering, wishing, and then he leaves.

Night Six

Craig, in an effort to avoid eating too much chicken, has made ravioli for dinner. He waits until Luke comes home so they can eat together.

“Hey,” he says casually when Luke walks into the kitchen.

“Hi,” Luke says softly.

The voice doesn’t sound right.

“What’s up? You okay?”

Luke shakes his miserable head.

“Francie died,” he says with a choked voice.

“One of the nans?” Craig asks carefully.

Luke nods. He loves all the nans, but Francie was a favourite.

Craig, yet again, doesn’t know what to do. They stand in the kitchen together clumsily, and without thinking Luke gently pushes his way into Craig’s arms and rests his face on his chest.

Sad duck.

Craig is a not a little surprised, but he can feel how much this embrace is needed, so he holds Luke gingerly and waits until Luke breaks away.

Luke still hasn’t allowed himself to acknowledge consciously what he is doing. He simply rests there until he feels less sad.

“Thanks,” is all he says when he slowly slips loose.

“Okay,” Craig tells him. He feels empty, cold when the embrace has finished.

Dinner is good. Luke cheers up a little as he eats and starts to talk about Francie. He tells Craig how she had no family, and how he, Luke, waited with her down in the tiny mortuary until the undertaker came to take her away.

Tender duck.

Then he talks about Francie’s infectious joie de vivre.

“She was 97 and she still put her lipstick on everyday,” he says admiringly. “I hope I’m that good when I’m 97.”

Craig smiles broadly, about to make an excellent joke about Luke and his lipstick before Luke cuts him off at the pass.

“You know what I mean,” he says to Craig with mock crossness. “How did you picture rails go? Did you get them up?”

Craig tells Luke how lovely Sean is as a person but how useless he is with picture rails.

“What about his old partner?” Luke wants to know. “How’s he with picture rails?”

“Ray? He’s worse,” Craig says. “I ended up doing it myself. “

“I hope they were grateful,” Luke remarks with a parental tone.

“They gave me some chocolates and wine,” Craig answers.

Needless to say the chocolates and wine did not last beyond that night’s screening of Taxi Driver.

“Good night,” Craig says to Luke as he makes his way to bed.

“You talking to me?” Luke drawls and they laugh together briefly.

Craig lies in the dark and thinks over and over what Sean said today. Sometimes you have to take love as it comes, in whatever form it takes.

Craig had protested, frustrated that he did not want Luke in whatever form it might take. He wanted a partner, a lover, someone he could openly adore.

Sean had smiled at him, shaking his head.

“I mean Luke, girlfriend. He’s snatching you whatever way he can.”

But Craig doesn’t quite get it. He can have me in all the most obvious ways.

And down the hall Luke folds up into a cosy ball, still wearing Craig’s sweatshirt. He can’t think too closely about what is happening, or why he is here. All he knows is that it is enough, to be this close but this far from Craig.

Day Seven

Luke has another double shift today and has started work at 6am. He gets good casual rates for two part-time shifts on a Sunday.

He thought, as he ate his breakfast in the lonely kitchen, that it might be funny to leave Craig some little notes. But he couldn’t think of anything to say. Well, nothing appropriate.

Craig wakes later in the morning and wanders around scratching his whiskery face, yawning. For a while he feels a little ambivalent, drinking his coffee in the lounge, looking out onto next door’s untidy courtyard. Some people, he thinks. Some people don’t know how to live.

While he slurps his second cup of coffee he decides he will go and look at the exhibition of servants’ portraits at the National Portrait Gallery. But it’s sheet-changing day, so he strips his bed first.

He finds himself a little apprehensive about entering the room Luke is sleeping in, as if he invading his privacy.

“It’s my house,” Craig tells himself crossly when he realises what he’s doing. He will not pursue the thought of Luke, lodger-guest-whatever, any further.

Craig is clinical and remote as he strips the linen from Luke’s bed. The blinds are drawn so visibility is not good and he stumbles on something large and soft and heavy on the floor.

It’s a big black duffle bag. It is perhaps two thirds full of clothes and socks and things.

Dressing duck.

Craig checks the bedside table, and sees Luke has nearly finished The Grapes of Wrath. The photo that sits nearby is perhaps twenty years old and appears to be of Luke and four siblings. His mother, at least Craig thinks it’s the mother, sits in the middle of all these children.

Family duck.

It takes him a while to choose the right sheets for Luke’s bed. There is a plain white, or blue and white check, or some awful autumn leaf pattern his mother gave him years ago. He has never used the autumn leaves.

“I hate autumn leaves,” he decides, and Luke gets plain white.

After he has seen the paintings (which he liked very much – he even bought the catalogue) he goes to the fourth floor of Selfridges in Oxford Street and buys two new sets of sheets – very subtle beige and white stripes, and some plain cream with a deep green border.

He tells himself he will toss the autumn leaves away, but he knows deep in his heart he never could. Not Mam’s sheets.

Luke is tired after his long day, but stops on the way home to join the video library near Craig’s home so he can borrow a week’s worth of dvds.

He is ravenous when he gets home and wolfs down the steamed greens and crumbed lamb cutlets Craig has made. He tells Craig how the nans spent all day discussing what they would be wearing to Francie’s funeral on Tuesday, and Craig tells him about the different servants in the portrait gallery. There is not one gap in the conversation. In some parts, they even overlapped each other.

They watch The Matrix before bed.

Luke finishes his book before he goes to sleep, curling up with a grateful smile in the clean soft sheets.

Craig lies in the dark, tired and happy, wondering how long it might take.

Day Eight

Luke is asleep when Craig leaves in the morning.

Craig is efficient and brisk as he gets ready; he feels, as he is closes the door behind him, that he has forgotten something or omitted to do something. In his conscious mind he goes through the list of dull things he might have missed; his wallet, his phone, check that the stove was turned off, but there’s nothing.

As he drives to work and half listens to the radio, his subconscious throbs with thought that he did not say goodbye to Luke.

When Luke wakes up he too feels as if something is missing. He reassures himself that it’s just because the house is still a little strange but deep down he wishes he had seen Craig this morning.

He cleans the bathroom, does a load of washing and some more of Craig’s ironing. Then he reads the catalogue Craig bought yesterday at the National Portrait Gallery and finds it very interesting.

So he takes himself off into the Gallery and has a look at the servants for himself.

Craig is still at work when Luke comes home, laden with groceries, that evening.

Luke gets busy and makes a bolognaise sauce. While it simmers on the stove he watches telly, but not a frame sinks in. He is thinking long and hard.

Luke’s thoughts are clear and sharp when Craig gets home just after seven.

Craig looks drawn and tired. “Dinner smells good,” he smiles at Luke.

Luke opens his mouth but no words come out yet.

“What?” Craig is attentive, and then worried that Luke might be going to do or say something unpredictable.

“You said you’d give me time,” Luke says with an intense face.

Craig has the impression that Luke has been thinking about this for while, so the request is familiar and reasonable sounding to Luke. Craig, however, feels as he is has been dropped in the centre of an unfamiliar suburb.

“When?” he asks.

“The morning of my wedding. Last year. You said you’d give me all the time I needed.”

Craig nods his head. “I did, yes…” Craig considers the context a year ago and the context now. “…that was a year ago.”

Luke’s face drops. “Is there another Luke Ashton?” he asks.

Now Craig is completely confused. “I greatly doubt it,” he says with a wan smile.

Luke is still serious. “At the hospital, you said, that next time you met another Luke Ashton you’d tell the truth from the beginning. Is there someone else?”

Craig is trying to fit these pieces together.

“There’s no one,” he says quietly. “Definitely no other Lukes,” he adds with a slightly warmer smile.

Luke is relieved.

“What bought this on?” Craig wants to know.

“Nothing. I don’t know.” Luke’s eyes are clear and deep, roaming over Craig’s face. Craig takes the opportunity to get a bit more information.

“What happened with that bloke the other night?”

Luke isn’t sure who he means.

“The man who said you hit him.”

“Oh, him,” Luke says contemptuously, looking away. “I met him at the pub. He said we could go home and watch some vids. When I got there he hit on me.”  
Luke is flinching at the memory. “He was horrible and he stank. I didn’t want to,” and his voice trails off.

“Did you hit him?” Craig asks.

“I pushed him off me when he kept trying to kiss me. He was making me sick. I didn’t think we were going – I mean, I wasn’t. He said he had some videos, and I was curious...I’ve heard of that, you know, the guys who just watch the movies...but he didn’t have any. He just wanted to get me back to his place. Then he started yelling and grabbing me, trying to get my clothes off so I pushed him away and he knocked over one of his dope plants and it scratched him. The neighbours called the police when he started yelling at me. I was still trying to get away when they turned up and they arrested me because he had a cut on his face and said I hit him.” 

Luke’s face is crimson with humiliation. Craig understands how great an effort that minor confession was.

Vulnerable duck.

“Why didn’t you tell me that when I saw you in the cell?” he asks gently.

“I didn’t want you to … I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t know what to say.” He looks at Craig earnestly. “I didn’t mean to swear at you. I’m sorry about that.”

“S’all right,” Craig assures him. “Doesn’t matter.”

“I’ve made dinner,” Luke offers.

“I can smell it. It smells great.”

It’s Craig’s turn to wolf down tonight. He hasn’t eaten for hours, and has worked hard all afternoon. The bolognaise is thick and juicy, the pasta firm and salty. Craig tells him about the DC who lost four crucial files on the people smuggling case, and Luke tells him about the servants, which they proceed to discuss and compare in detail. They conclude that it would have been an awful life.

And when they watch Last Drinks, Luke sits on the couch with Craig.

Day Nine

“So how’s the houseguest?” Sean asks Craig over the phone while Craig stares at his spreadsheet. He’s worried it will dissolve before his eyes.

Sean never calls Craig this often.

“Okay,” Craig says warily.

“Still beating up punters?”

Craig explains the situation.

“Hmmm. Circle jerk gone wrong,” Sean summarises.

“Basically, yes.”

“Has he made a move on you?”

“It’s not like that,” Craig says, a little irritated. 

“What’s it like then?” Sean knows he is pushing a tad too hard, but feels it’s important that Craig looks at this issue a little more closely.

“Look, I’m really busy at the moment…can I call you on the weekend?”

“You have to sort this out, girlfriend,” Sean says firmly. “You’re really putting your self in a vulnerable position here.”

That odd rush of protectiveness that only Luke can arouse in Craig comes rushing up like backwash from a speedboat.

“I’m fine. I’ll call you on the weekend.” And he rings off, moodily turning his attention back to his spreadsheet.

Craig stares at the figures in an effort to clear Luke from his mind, but Sean’s words were potent. It is starting to eat at him; he is worried that he might be being used and wonders if for now he’s prepared to make excuses it for it.

I’ll snatch his love anyway I can get it.

Luke is cooking sausages and mash when Craig gets home. He looks up with a happy smile as his potatoes bubble in a big pot of boiling water.

“Hi!”

“Hi,” Craig answers sourly.

“What’s up?”

Craig shakes his head as if he is trying to dislodge the words he wants to say.

“What’s happening here?”

Luke turns his face back down.

“I don’t know. I‘m cooking.” He looks at the nude boiling potatoes and stabs them a little too emphatically with a fork. “I like it here.”

Craig draws a deep breath. Likes it. IT. He can’t speak, but doesn’t have to.

“I like you,” Luke adds as he stabs a few more potatoes.

The words slip straight through Craig’s fibre and lodge themselves in the lining of his heart.

Struggling duck.

Duck peering out of the closet.

He looks at Luke and sees that’s as much as Luke can tell him so far. It’s enough.

But Luke, now, needs a little more himself.

“Is that okay?” he asks Craig as the potatoes start to crumble under the repeated attack.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

A little silence winds around them then sails out the door.

“Francie was buried today,” Luke tells him.

“You okay?”

Luke nods.

“Did the nans look nice?”

Over sausages and mash and one of the nan’s gravy recipe Luke tells Craig about the whole funeral, how all the nans wore bright lipstick as a tribute to Francie, who cried the loudest and who knew the words to all the hymns they sang in the little chapel. Craig tells Luke about the crime stats, the two married PCs in his relief who are having an affair and a shoplifter who asked if she could have a cappuccino while she was in custody.

They watch The Laramie Project, and Luke sits on the couch with him again.

Day Ten

“Craig, it’s mum, I can never work out whether you’re at work or at home anymore, anyway I need to talk to you because Dad has to have some tests at Brompton because Dr Harnett says his lungs are scarred or something and we want to stay with you next week…”

Luke is standing in the lounge listening to Craig’s mam leaving what might be the world’s longest answering machine message.

Mam and Dad are coming to stay.

It sounds like an important message, and Luke is uncertain whether Craig should know now, or just find out tonight when he gets home. If I wasn’t here he’d find out tonight anyway.

But I am here.

“Craig Gilmore,” he says sharply when he answers his phone.

“Sarge, there’s a Luke Ashton holding for you,” the front desk officer says.

“Oh.” Craig is surprised. “Put him through.” And his chest cavity fills with little butterflies.

“Hi,” Luke says quickly. “Your mum called.”

Shy duck.

“What’s wrong?” Garden variety nerves are replaced by genuine terror.

Luke tries to condense Mam’s message. “Your dad has to have tests at Brompton because Dr Harnett says his lungs are scarred and she can’t remember where you are and they wants to stay with you next week when they come down for the tests,” is his best effort.

“Did you talk to her?”

“I listened to her leave a message,” Luke says, a little guiltily.

“Was it long?”

“Yeah, it was a bit.”

“How long?”

Luke thinks about this. “A couple of minutes.”

“That was a short one. Her record’s seven minutes.”

Luke laughs. “That must be a world record.”

“Pretty close, I think.”

“I just thought you might like to call her now.”

“I will. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Well, bye.”

“Bye.”

They hang up and both stare at their respective phones as if the other is still there.

Craig comes home to chicken soup again, which he likes not only because it is very satisfying but it makes the house smell nice. He and Luke discuss Craig’s dad’s lungs which are scarred from pneumonia, where abouts in Swansea the Gilmore parents live, the two Welsh nans at Luke’s work who don’t like each other and how nice it is to have wine with dinner.

They watch About Schmidt, together, on the couch. Craig fancies that Luke has moved about an inch closer.

It is in fact two and a quarter inches.

Day Eleven

Early morning and Craig is showering, thanking his stars he didn’t toss out the autumn leaves sheets. She’d check for sure. Mam and Dad can have the new cream and green ones, and Luke….

Luke.

When he goes out to make his breakfast Craig finds a sealed bowl filled with soup has been left for him on the kitchen counter. It has a little note on it.

Sarge’s lunch

It fills Craig twice with unexpected delight - the practicality and commonsense of taking a nutritious meal from home to the workplace, and the loving gesture of someone having regarded his comfort in making his lunch for him.

Considerate duck.

He leaves Luke a little note too.

Thank you for lunch! Where would you like to sleep when my parents are here?

An hour later Luke is staring at the note as he eats a bowl of weetabix with warm milk and sugar. He likes Craig’s handwriting.

He ponders the note as he washes the breakfast dishes. All kinds of things are occurring to him as he wanders to the laundry and takes out three of Craig’s work shirts from the basket. He leans over the washing machine with the three shirts in his arms and buries his face in their fabric, inhaling deeply.

Luke starts work at two that afternoon, and works through to seven.

When he comes home Craig has just about finished stirfrying beef and Chinese vegetables.

They discuss hospitals, a new probationer who Craig thinks won’t be up to the job and the ethics of puppywalking. The phone rings while they are eating and it is the hospital for Luke, asking if he can start at six tomorrow.

“More money,” he tells Craig, pleased.

They watch About A Boy. Luke kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet underneath him. Craig leans back and stretches his legs out along the length of the couch.  
Occasionally the tips of his toes touch the soles of Luke’s feet.

Day Twelve

Luke is already at work when Craig is walking around the kitchen in his drawers. He didn’t sleep very well, waking up every couple of hours, worrying ostensibly about his dad and subconsciously about Luke.

Craig finds it difficult to concentrate this morning. First he bumps his head on the cupboard door when he reaches for a mug then he stubs his toe on the fridge door when he’s after the milk.

He wakes up suddenly when he dips a spoon into the coffee jar and finds a note in there.

Your welcome.

With you.

It says in careful script.

Luke generally attends to his chores at the aged facility with care and tenderness, but today he is dazed and uncertain. Every now and then he gets a little panicky, but on a couple of memorable occasions he gets a warm glow.

Three nans are crocheting in the recreation room, discussing what might be up with Luke.

“He’s just a bit thick,” Maudie says.

“He’s in love,” Audrey says.

“He’s getting a cold,” Mavis says.

The nans discuss each theory more closely. The reach no definite conclusions, for there are substantial arguments mounted for each theory.

“What are you three up to?” Luke asks a little later when he brings them cups of tea.

“We’re making blankets for the AIDS orphans in Africa,” Audrey says with the sweetest smile.

And the three nans giggle.

Craig, meanwhile, is having one of those dreadful days that always follow a bad night sleep. He can’t concentrate. His parents arrive on Sunday, his spreadsheet is all over the place, Luke left him a note in the coffee jar.

PC Johnny Proctor wastes twenty minutes of his time because of his inability to complete his time sheet correctly.

Rima dropped by and bitched about DC Otford, the fool who lost the four files on the people smuggling case. The operation has been seriously delayed by this carelessness. Craig just wants her to go away and leave him to work but she rabbits on and on. Paperwork continues to pile up, e-mail notifications keep appearing on Craig’s screen.

He’s doing a thousand things and failing to complete any of them.

Then he remembers the note for the umpteenth time, the letters clear in his mind for the rest of his life.

With you. And Craig smiles to himself.

Craig is just saving his spreadsheet – every line perfect – when the phone rings. It is 5.25; he thought he might leave soon.

“I have a Luke Ashton calling for you,” the CP on the front desk says.

“Put him through,” Craig says crisply.

“Hi,” Luke says quickly. “You’re not too busy?”

“No, just finished the quarterly report. Thought I’d go soon.”

Luke takes a deep breath.

“Want to get some pizza and see a movie?”

First date duck.

Craig nods until he realises that Luke can’t see him.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“We could go to Prego’s, down on the Canley High Street. They do good pizzas.”

Craig is very familiar with the marinara pizza at Prego’s.

“Okay.”

“And if you want to we could see Cold Mountain at the Canley Empire afterwards.”

“What time’s it on?”

“8.40.”

“Perfect. Will I just meet you at Prego’s then?”

“Okay. About seven?”

“Seven’s fine.”

And there’s a tiny silence.

“See you at seven then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

And when the call ends they are both still and quiet for a few seconds.

They are relaxed and easy over dinner. Luke tells Craig about the nans crocheting blankets for the AIDS orphans then Craig tells Luke about PC Proctor’s mental block with timesheets. They discuss the hours they work, how much unpaid overtime police men and women end up doing and how good the pizzas at Prego’s are.

They both enjoy Cold Mountain, and on the way home, in Craig’s car, discuss how difficult it must be to imitate a foreign accent.

When they get home Craig pours s a glass of wine for them both and they sit, friendly and warm, together in the kitchen.

“When do your parents get here?”

“Sunday,” Craig answers. He is sitting sideways, leaning his back against the wall, running the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass.

“I’m working all day tomorrow,” Luke notes casually. “But I can help you clean the place up tomorrow night.” The flat is actually tidy, but Craig appreciates the offer.

“That’d be great.” He smiles at Luke then looks back down at his wine.

Luke drains his glass. “I’m knackered,” he says. “I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, I guess I will too.” But Craig doesn’t move.

Luke rinses his glass, thinking, debating.

“See you in the morning,” Luke says lightly at the doorway. He half reaches out his hand but moves it back when a final bolt of the old fear strikes him. Craig doesn’t notice.

“See you then,” Craig smiles, still looking down at his glass. He sits there for a while longer, listening to Luke brush his teeth, flush the toilet, pad around, flick the light switch, and then the house grows quiet.

Craig sits and remembers what it was like, all those months with all that silence.

Day Thirteen

It’s Saturday and Luke grows more distracted as the bolt of fear continues strike him. The nans crochet and speculate, giggle and smile angelically whenever Luke approaches.

Craig isn’t sure what he is feeling. He makes his coffee and sits staring at next door’s courtyard. He diverts his thoughts by sending out strong mental messages to his neighbours to go outside and clean up.

He gets annoyed when no one shows up. Some people.

He showers, chooses his favourite shirt and third-favourite jumper and socks to which he is indifferent, then goes and buys groceries. There will be four people eating in his house over the next few nights.

He buys some extra fruit. He thought he might stew some plums.

Craig is more agitated and imprecise when he gets home. He makes himself another cup of coffee after he’s packed away the groceries, but can’t bear to look out the untidy yard. Instead he sits where he sat last night, alone in the quiet kitchen.

Without thinking he goes to strip the sheets from the bed Luke has been sleeping in and the scent almost makes him weep. He has resisted the urge to bring any taste or trace of Luke so close to him but now he sits helpless on the edge of the mattress and rubs his face against the pillowcase. So close and yet so far, and so many thousands of things to go wrong, things that didn’t go wrong last time because there were so many other things going wrong.

He wonders if Luke loves him or hates him, and he wonders once more what Luke is so frightened of.

It was terrible, the stag night. Luke had been petrified, desperate, clingy and distant, sometimes all these things at once. Craig had drawn on every reserve and scrap of understanding he had to try and soothe him, but it was to no avail. Luke clammed up and barely said a word, instead holding on to him so tightly he left red marks on Craig’s shoulders and back, pushing his face so hard and pitifully into Craig’s neck that Craig could feel the creases at the corners of Luke’s lips as he tried to breath through his mouth. They had tried to make love but no amount of stroking or coaxing from Craig could help Luke maintain an erection, no amount of reassurance or tenderness could stop Luke apologising, overcompensating for his terror with clumsy, inexperienced touches.

“I want to,” he told Craig over and over, and he did, so badly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Craig reassured every time, happy to hold him, happy just to kiss.

He wonders about it now as he strokes his face with the Luke-scented sheets, what it is that draws them so strongly to one another, why they can’t talk about or even acknowledge it. What it is about him that scares Luke so, what it is about Luke that makes everything and everybody in his life seem dim, inaudible, distant. 

When Luke comes home that night Craig has made steak and chips and peas.  
They try to talk about their day but there are blocks between them now; their conversation is halted and lacks the easygoing spontaneity they have enjoyed over the last week or so.

They sit with wine and socked feet and watch Cool Hand Luke, which, for a while, takes them to another place.

After the film they are quiet and edgy. Until now they have managed with the most scant details; tonight they both know that if they want to go any further they will have to talk.

They sit on the couch together, nursing their wine. The first big step is from Craig.

“I’m really tired. I’m going to bed.” He stands up and looks at Luke nervously. “I’ve stripped your bed for mam and dad tomorrow. I left clean sheets folded up there, or you can sleep down here if you want. “He says this with a resignation that lets Luke know that he pretty much expecting to get his heart broken.

Luke realises now Craig is as scared as he is, but of different things.

He listens to Craig make his way to the bathroom then hears the floor squeak as Craig makes his way to his bed.

Then it is quiet.

Luke is about to pour another glass of wine, but suddenly understands it won’t make one iota of difference. So he brushes his teeth, drops his clothes in the laundry hamper, ready for bed in his boxers and tshirt.

Craig is reading Of Human Bondage when the door opens. He looks up at Luke who is frightened, defensive and entirely silent as he slips under the sheets.

Craig makes room for him; closes his book and places it quietly on the bedside table.

They lie on their sides and stare at each other, their hearts loud and fluttering.

“It’s funny,” Luke starts, “people talk about their heart aching and actually your heart doesn’t haven’t any nerves. It’s a muscle.”

Craig’s eyes fill with tenderness. “My heart’s different. It’s got lots of nerves.”

“Has it?” He leans over and touches Craig’s face, light fingertip strokes over his cheek, along his jaw, his chin.

The gentle touch makes Craig’s eyes close for a second and he can definitely feel the nerves in his heart. “You put them there,” he says with the faintest of smiles.

Luke strokes Craig’s face for a long time, looking closely at the all the different textures and shapes, all the single things that he loves separately and as a composite.

“Your scar’s faded,” he says quietly.

Craig nods.

“That was the worst things I’ll ever see,” he says to Craig, “Seeing you on the floor, covered in blood and shaking. It was like death throes.” Luke runs his fingers down Craig’s cheek. “I never want to be that scared again.”

Craig lifts his chin slightly when Luke reaches the bristly underside of his jaw.

“Tell me why I scare you so much,” he asks Luke quietly.

But instead Luke tells him of the last few months he was at work, and the first few months away from work, and how angry he has been.

Craig takes in every word, now lying on his back, his hands folded over his solar plexus. His eyes let Luke know how closely he is listening, and only once – when Luke outlines the shooting – does he touch Luke, briefly on the shoulder,

“I know that doesn’t answer your question,” Luke tells him when he has finished the story. “But I had to tell you.”

“I know. I’m glad you did.”

“Can I ask you something?”

Craig nods. Luke is stroking his hair now and it feels wonderful.

“Are you scared of me?”

It’s an interesting question and requires a detailed answer.

“I’m scared of what you do to me,” Craig tells him as Luke combs the thick locks with his fingers. “I’m scared that you think you like me but that maybe you don’t.”

Luke nods. He was expecting much worse.

“Tell me.” Craig wants to know now. “Why are you scared of me?”

Luke takes a deep breath and moves imperceptibly closer.

“I thought I was but I’m not. I’m scared of you, but not in the way that I think you’ll hurt me.” He takes another deep breath as he grapples for the right way to say it. “I’m scared of how you make me feel.”

“How do I make you feel?” Craig wonders.

Luke bites his bottom lip.

“I knew I liked men,” he says eventually. “I knew I did, but I didn’t want to do much about it. I didn’t really have to, because I was never in the position where I wanted to have a relationship. I figured someone would come along when I was ready, you know, ready to be with someone, and I’d have a relationship, and then I’d have others and then when I was older, you know, forty or something, I’d fall in love properly and have the big one.”

Craig doesn’t quite understand, so Luke clarifies.

“I didn’t expect to fall in love with you. I didn’t - I just wanted to go back to the force and work hard and be really good at it. I mean, I wasn’t - I hadn’t quite got a handle on the gay thing.” Luke stares at his fingers. “It’s a really big shock, when you finally work it out. “

Craig smiles.

Luke tries to focus again. “You just…by the time I realised I was in love with you I’d already told everyone I was getting married and it was too late. I mean, it wasn’t, I could have backed out, but then I kept thinking that you’d never forgive me, not after all I did to you. And you kept forgiving me anyway. And I still wasn’t sure, I mean, I still couldn’t believe it was happening to me.”

Craig looks away.

“I was going to tell her, just after we got back. I couldn’t believe how much I missed you when we were on the honeymoon. I really did. It didn’t seem real, that I missed you so much. And then she told me she was pregnant.”

Luke slips his hand down and links his fingers through Craig’s fingers. Craig doesn’t respond, his hand is still and warm.

“It was so confusing,” Luke whispers. “I didn’t think you could fall in love like that. Not like I did.”

Craig turns his face back. “Like how?”

Luke strokes his face again. “Like no one else matters. Like there could never be anyone else. I mean, what you read about love, or what you see when people tell you they’re in love, it was nothing like I felt. ”

Craig closes his eyes.

“You were really angry at me,” he remembers.

“I hated you,” Luke admits, quickly and with shame. His voice grows softer. “I only hated you because I loved you so much.”

He inches over to Craig until their bodies are touching. “I just didn’t know what to do. I just couldn’t believe it, that I was in love with you. I really couldn’t.”

He watches Craig and waits for him to open his eyes, but he won’t.

“I still do,” Luke says anyway.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want?”

Luke bites his lip again and looks at Craig’s limp hand in his own.

“I want to get used to you,” he explains. “You’re…different. It’s not what I expected. I need to get used to you.”

This causes a prickle of hurt through Craig’s heart nerves.

“Did you have to get to get used to the men you picked up in pubs?”

Luke drops his eyes in shame. “I don’t love them,” he says. “I don’t care what happens to them. I don’t care what they think of me.” 

“What if you get used to me and find that you don’t love me after all?” Craig asks.

“It won’t be as bad as if you get used to me and find you don’t love me,” Luke reasons. “Letting some guy whose name you don’t know get you off is nothing. You forget about it when it’s over. Being with someone who makes you feel… someone who you really…” 

Craig says nothing.

“It scares me, that you might not love me.”

Craig looks at him with slightly narrowed eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“I could never work out what attracted you to me.”

Craig turns his body a little and brings his hand to life, flexing Luke’s fingers around his own.

All the little things about Luke that form a mosaic in Craig’s heart come into view as if a light has been cast on them. He loves them as tiny individual tiles, he loves the entire complex picture. Just the thought of all those things makes him smile, and he slips his other hand to Luke’s shoulder.

“Everything,” he tells him. “Everything.”

Luke bites his lips again and quickly buries himself face first in to Craig’s neck, as urgent and frightened as he did a year ago. Craig gently kisses the soft clean hair and deftly wraps his arms around the tense, nervous boy.

When the muscles relax Luke pulls his face back and makes a quickly dip at Craig’s lips, soft and sticky, encouraging Craig to respond.

Craig kisses him like a starved man, over and over until his mouth feels tired and he is certain that he will not forget what Luke tastes like again.

Precious duck.

Luke strokes and touches him a little more, making it as far as Craig’s neck while his own body is curiously unresponsive. Craig’s body is a more reliable, joyful at having Luke so close, eager to get closer. 

“Let me,” Luke suggests, sitting up and drawing Craig up to lay in his arms, pulling his underwear out of the way, twisting and bending until he has unfettered and comfortable access to Craig’s erection.

He whispers hotly in Craig’s ear. “Show me how you like it,” and watches the uncomplicated movement, gradually folding his fingers over Craig’s, Craig lessening his grip so Luke can take over.

Craig’s strength and weight seem to increase when he comes, his head tossed back and resting on Luke’s shoulder as he gasps and rocks. Luke nuzzles and murmurs as Craig calms down.

Skilful duck.

Then it’s Craig who pushes into Luke’s arms to seek private attentive cuddling. Luke willingly takes him, stroking the broad back randomly until the breathing is shallow and the body a dead weight.

He kisses Craig softly on the forehead as he whispers goodnight. It now seems more likely to Luke that he could get used to this.

Day Fourteen

Craig wakes early to the odd feeling of fingers wandering over his back. He is very still while he works out where exactly behind him Luke is, and if he is asleep or awake.

Luke is wide awake, peeping at Craig from under the duvet, pushed up right against him. He has been writing his own name over and over on Craig’s back with his fingers.

“What are you doing in there?” Craig asks suspiciously, playfully.

“Cuddling,” Luke says doubtfully.

Craig rolls around and pulls the duvet away.

“You sleep okay?” Craig asks him as he tentatively draws him near.

Luke nods, polite and surprisingly bright eyed. “Did you?”

“Yeah.”

They can’t think of anything to say to each other; they’re still a little spent from last night. Instead they look at each other and exchange a few slow kisses.

“Do you want breakfast in bed?”

“I’ll make it!” Luke offers eagerly.

Loving duck.

Craig smiles. “I have to say, you’re a good deal more domesticated than I thought you’d be.”

Luke is unsure whether or not this is a compliment, and his face falters a little, crushing Craig’s heart with longing.

“I meant that I’m surprised how considerate you are around the house. I’m used to slobs,” he tells him quickly with a soft smile.

Luke is uncertain how to respond, his pleasure at the compliment bringing on a goofy grin.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises.

There are lots of things to think about while breakfast is made. Craig waits until the bathroom is free and, while Luke is clattering and humming in the kitchen, Craig goes over how much ground they have covered so far.

“Porridge!” Luke announces, pushing the door open with his foot.

They eat together, chatting about small things, both thinking another.

“I thought we were really different,” Luke tells Craig as they sip their coffee. “The thing is, we’re actually really similar.”

Perceptive duck.

Craig is in the shower when the urgent phone call comes.

Luke knocks hesitantly on the door.

“It’s work,” he says, handing Craig the phone. He looks shyly at Craig’s body then closes the door respectfully behind him.

Craig is still dressing when he comes downstairs.

“I have to go in,” he tells Luke with not a little disappointment. “The raid is on today, and they want me with one of the back up teams.”

Luke nods.

“My parents are coming,” Craig adds as he tucks his shirt into jeans that are not yet zipped up.

“I’ll look after them,” Luke assures him.

Craig’s not sure.

“Are they difficult?” Luke asks, before he makes a hasty conclusion. “Do you want me to go?”

“No!” Craig pulls him over and gathers him in close. “No. Nothing like that.”

“Your parents know..?” Luke half asks.

“That I’m gay?” Craig laughs. “Yes. They know for sure. I told them years ago.” He looks at Luke and feels the nerves in his heart heating up. “They don’t know about you. I saw them at Christmas and I was definitely single. Now I have a live in...”

He halts as he rummages for the right noun.

“A live in what?” Luke, too, would like a description.

The nerves in Craig’s heart contract. He’s in a hurry, he’s confused, he has Luke bundled up in arms searching his face with expectant eyes. Slowly, I have to do this slowly.

“Well, you cook for me, iron my shirts, listen to me talk about my work, tell me about the nans, see movies with me, bring me breakfast in bed...” And he smiles generously as the heart nerves expand.

He moves his face around to Luke’s left ear.

“Live in boyfriend. Is it too early to call you that?”

Luke tilts his face like a child to whisper in Craig’s ear.

“No.”

The house is still very tidy, so Luke doesn’t have to do much. “Shake a broom at it,” is the nans’ description of cleaning a place that is already pretty clean.

Just after eleven Luke checks the fridge, wondering what to feed the Gilmore parents.

Something’s missing, so he makes a dash down to the supermarket.

Craig has a difficult, exhausting day. It was a rough raid, and it turned out that Craig was required not as part of a back up team but as part of a second, hastily organised arresting team who raided a sweatshop in Canley.

He arrested several people from China, people who had arrived only four days earlier and were already paying their fictitious travelling debts with slave labour.

He came back to his office confused, his head full of the musical foreign language and the bewildered, terrified faces. The people smelt frightened, their body scents misted with unfamiliar smells of aniseed and garlic.

The follow up work was arduous and painstaking. Craig filled out eighteen different reports, found and organised three translators, handcuffed one agitated terrified young Chinese man who tried to attack his solicitor and debriefed both the incoming custody sergeant and that night’s relief.

Rima poked her head into his office at 5.15 that afternoon.

“We’re going down the pub,” she tells him triumphantly, but her face is weary and grey. “You coming?”

Craig shakes his head. “I’m off home, My parents are over from Wales.”

“Tonight?” she asks, smiling at the thought that this solitary, quiet man could actually belong to a family.

“Now. They should be already here.”

“Are you picking them up from the airport?” she asks.

“No, they drove down.” Craig shuts down his computer.

“Are they staying with you?”

Craig nods, happy at the thought. Mam and Dad.

“If your mum’s anything like mine, you’d want to get home before she rearranges your whole house.” Rima is hoping for a bit more insight to the Gilmore parents.

“No,” Craig smiles as he stands up. “My boyfriend will keep them in check.”

It’s as if he too is trying out the word, linking the images of Luke in his mind and the nerves of his heart with the actual definition of boyfriend.

Boyfriend duck.

“Thought you were single!” Rima says as she stands back from the doorway to let him pass.

“No. Very attached. See you tomorrow.”

“’Night Craig. Thanks for all your help today.”

“Glad to be involved,” he says sincerely. “Have a drink for me.”

“Will do!” And she clip-clops down the hall in her inappropriate footwear.

Craig stops on the way home to get a bottle of red, and gets a bottle of white just in case. He won’t think about what might be happening at home – if Luke has run away, or if he parents hated on Luke on sight, or any of the other things that could go wrong.

He stands at his front door sorting through his keys. Cheerful chattering lilts of conversation are rising and falling inside, something warm and rich is cooking, its aromas wafting down the hall and the lights burn yellow through out the house, cheery and bright.

Luke is in the kitchen with Craig’s parents, happy and entertaining, watching over a roasting chicken.

“Your dad’s trying to convert me!” is the first thing Luke says, staring right into Craig’s eyes, saying a thousand things with just one look.

Craig’s mother stands up to kiss her oldest boy hello.

“I can’t believe you,” she starts. “Here we are, sitting here with poor Luke who we didn’t even know about let alone even know you were living with, and he’s been slaving in the kitchen all afternoon, poor love, look at that chicken, it smells  
marvellous, and here we are talking to him and he doesn’t even know about the church or your father and we had no idea that he was in the force with you! Honestly, you’re so mysterious, I call you all the time and you never tell me anything, you’ve been with this boy and you’ve never said a word to any of us – not even a photo, and you were with us all that time at Christmas and not a peep – and we turn up this afternoon after your father got us lost when we were coming through Epping – Luke said we should have taken the west London road – would that been quicker? – well, we’ll remember to do that next time, and we get here and find this poor boy who’s name we don’t even know and you never said a word! I don’t believe you!”

She stops to take a breath.

“Hello mam,” Craig says warmly while he has the chance.

Luke is delighted, not only at Craig’s mother who, he is certain, could break her seven minute answering machine record without even trying, but delighted at Craig, who is standing tall, his face full of love and amusement.

He looks over to Luke. “My dad’s a Methodist minister,” he tells Luke with a beatific smile.

“I know!” Luke beams back. “He wants to baptise me in the sink!”

“You only need a tap,” Craig’s father says, standing up to kiss his son. “He’s not been baptised, and I thought we could do it now before dinner.”

Luke watches the easy, relaxed way Craig’s father embraces and kisses him.

“You can baptise him when you’re washing up,” his mother says. “Now look, before I forget, Josh has drawn you some pictures of that duck you gave him for Christmas. You wouldn’t believe it, he can read that book by himself.” She turns to Luke, who is all ears. “Craig gave him this wonderful book about a little duck called Dudley…”

“Duddles,” Craig corrects, watching as his mother fishes though her large handbag.

“Oh, whatever his name is, and the whole time Craig was home all any of us heard was sad duck or angry duck or happy duck, because the book talks about all the moods the little duck goes through, it’s to teach little ones about their feelings, you know, that its alright to feel happy or frightened or sad, although why you have teach someone that I’ll never know, I mean, no one taught us about our feelings when I was growing up, we just learnt to put up with them but he’s only three – that’s Josh – and he can read this book by himself now, I mean, obviously he just remembered, memorised all the pages when Craig was reading it to him – he calls him Cwaig, it is so lovely to hear – but he stays with David and I on Tuesday and Thursdays, his mum’s gone back to work like I told you, she’s a nurse, like you…”

“I’m a porter, not a nurse yet,” Luke interjects, learning the tricks to conversing with her.

“Well, you’re going to be a wonderful nurse, you can come and look after David and I when we’re old…”

She keeps going while Craig gets the plates out, his father uncorks the wine and Luke dishes up the chicken and vegetables.

Luke loves her.

Her voice rings through the house, over the meal, over the apple crumble, over tea and coffee, mingled with the soapy wet clink of the dishes being washed, dried, stacked away, though the evening as she and David sit in the lounge and chat with Craig about the raid today, about the family, while they brush their teeth, right until Craig and Luke have settled into the cool fresh sheets.

“I should have warned you,” Craig says softly as they lay together, face to face.

“I’ve never met anyone who can talk like that,” he smiles back.

“You coped well.”

“I like them. They’re lovely people.” They look into one another’s eyes. “I didn’t know your dad was a minister.”

“Does that bother you?”

Luke shakes his head. “No, it’s just a surprise. You’re not religious.”

“No,” Craig agrees. “Actually dad isn’t very religious either. Well, you know, not like some ministers.”

They’re a little more comfortable together tonight, as if other people in the house tighten their bond. They chat quietly about their day, gentle touches becoming earnest caressing, and soon they have nothing to say as they hold and kiss each other, still curious and unfamiliar with their bodies.

Craig had expected, if anything, Luke would be less responsive tonight with parents just a room away. Instead he is affectionate, passionate, almost as if the restraints of guests have made the prospect of pleasure all the more enticing.

“May I?” he asks Craig shyly as he strokes his thighs, brushes the engorging cock with his fingers.

“You don’t have to ask,” Craig assures him as he shifts to his back and draws his knees up, easing Luke over to lie next to him. “You can do that when ever you like.”

Tonight it’s almost as if Luke is trying out Craig’s body and responses. He is gentle and smooth at first, then a little more aggressive, and finally quick and hard, his face up close, their lips just touching as he pumps him strongly, gently squeezing as Craig comes with the faintest restrained moans.

Experienced duck.

“That was so good,” Craig tells him in a husky whisper as Luke moves across him to kiss.

Craig gently and discreetly runs his hands over Luke’s body, notes his evident arousal through the snug boxer briefs. He hitches Luke a little closer, kisses him deeply, concentrating on just his mouth, no expectation or even mild encouragement. He lets Luke dictate what he wants as he strokes his back and holds his hand.

“More?” Craig asks him softly as Luke heats up, shifting a little to contain the throbbing hardness, bumping it against Craig’s thigh, his kisses fast and insistent.

It’s difficult for Craig to gauge what Luke wants, difficult to rein in his own curiosity and desire to take all of the hard young body. He wants it badly, not only to pleasure and satisfy him, but to take ownership, move beyond boyfriend and into the deeper more involved waters of lover.

“You want me to help you?” Craig asks in the low light as Luke tries to hold Craig and strip off his briefs at the same time.

“Suck me,” is all Luke answers, as if he has become another man. “Suck me.”

Craig says nothing but his affection and actions expand the way a storm will seemingly cover the sky in seconds. He takes control completely, peeling the briefs off in one quick movement, fixing Luke on his back, reassuring him by holding and stroking his face as he gently pushes his legs open. Luke is submissive, absorbed in his own desire and at the moment insensible to how he will be satisfied.

It builds up quickly, Craig confident and adoring, kissing the smooth firm skin on his inner thighs, supporting the heavy tensing balls, rolling his lips lazily over the shaft while his heart nerves flash and stretch and Luke grunts and flexes beneath him. It’s quick, Craig feels the excitement mount and peak and then spit suddenly in his mouth, Luke’s hands clinging to his shoulders, his toes curling and stretching against Craig’s waist.

Craig gives him a few seconds before he releases the now painfully sensitive organ from his mouth, and wordlessly slips up to nurse his lover in the afterglow.

Luke tips straight into the embrace, alarmingly still then slowly starts to shake with silent little hiccupping gulps. The spreading hot dampness from his hidden face pressed deep into Craig’s neck leaves no doubt that he is sobbing as if his heart is breaking, although in reality it is some irregular mixture of the anguish and rage Luke has harboured and nurtured for eighteen months.

It happens to us all when we come out. When we find out that we can love, and be loved, after all.

Craig makes no attempt to stop him, instead he encourages him, gently rocking and stroking, saying nothing, listening to how far the quiet sobs seem to rise up from within Luke. He cries until he is exhausted, not moving his face until the last tear has been wrung from his heart.

When he finally moves his red runny face away he is breathless and tired.

“Emotional duck,” he tells Craig.

Day Fifteen

Luke’s starts his shift at six this Monday morning. Craig wakes to an empty bed, wrinkled tormented sheets and a still flattened pillow.

He can hear his mother chattering downstairs.

“Morning,” Craig calls down to his parents as he makes his way to the bathroom. His mother is still talking when he closes the bathroom door.

He wakes up as he showers. By the time he is drying himself Luke has already renewed his grip on his heart and mind. They’ve crossed another exceptionally difficult hurdle, except this time they’ve done it holding hands. How hard will the next one be, Craig wonders as he guides the razor over his soaped face.

His father is in the lounge, reading the catalogue of the servants’ exhibition while his mother dresses.

“When’s your appointment?” Craig asks him as he eats cereal, standing casually in the doorway.

“Ten. If we get out in time we might go down to see this,” he answers, flicking through the catalogue.

“It’s worth seeing,” Craig answers.

“When do you start?”

Craig shrugs. “Nine, but I might go in a bit a later.” And he and his father laugh because they know Craig would never do that.

His father stands up and follows Craig to the kitchen.

“Luke’s a nice fellow,” Dad starts.

Craig is rinsing his bowl. “I know,” he answers without turning around.

“How long have you known him?”

“About eighteen months.”

“You’ve not been together that long.”

“No. Just a few weeks.”

“Odd you never mentioned him.” And he waits.

Craig weighs up his answer carefully.

“He’s only just come out,” he says. “It’s been really hard for him.”

“He seems pretty well adjusted, though.”

“He is,” Craig says. “But that’s not the problem.”

“What’s the problem?”

The problem is something I can only see and feel, I can’t describe it.

“No problem, it was just really hard for him. He … it was just difficult, really painful.”

It’s a whole world of issues with which Reverend Gilmore is completely unfamiliar. He would so like to assist or give some calming, sensible advice, but he has none.

“I wish I could help,” he tells his son.

“He’ll be fine,” Craig says.

There are heavy footsteps on the stairs.

“Honestly Craig, you would have to have the cleanest tiles in the Kingdom. I don’t know where you get it from, I don’t remember you being this tidy at home. I never saw you clean the bathroom at home. Or is it Luke? He’s a lovely boy, isn’t he? I can’t believe you’ve known him all this time and never mentioned him. You could have knocked me down with a feather when we turned up yesterday and this handsome young thing answers the door. He was so friendly! He had the kettle on all ready for us, and the cups out, I was so touched. I like him better than that other one that you used to live with. What was his name? Shane? What happened to him? I never trusted him, that sulky face of his. Now Luke has a lovely face. You know I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be Welsh, he has that lovely skin you see in the south, but it burns up a treat in the summer and he seems to be the browning type..”

“I have to get to work,” Craig interrupts. “Dad said you might go and see the exhibition?”

“Oh, it looks wonderful. We probably will if we get out in time, but I did tell Pauline that I’d try to drop in to Liberty’s too, she wants a particular thread for her tapestry and she can’t get it anywhere, she said Liberty’s the only place in the world where they have….”

“What about tonight?”

“Tony Mansour’s invited us over for dinner, we haven’t seen them for years, not since he was at St Aidan’s in Cardiff and it would be lovely to catch up, Andrew and Nicole are grown up, Nicole had a baby I think, but she isn’t married so I don’t know how that went down with the family….”

“Well, if I don’t see you tonight I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“We’re driving back tomorrow, and I want to get up early.”

Craig leans in and kisses his mam goodbye. The familiar scent of Chanel No 5 drifts gently to his nose.

“Have a good day. ‘Bye, Dad,” he calls out to his father who has gravitated back to the living room.

“We’ll probably see you tonight when we get home,” his father calls out.

“Call me if the doctor says anything important.”

“Will do.”

Craig smiles to himself as he hears his mother still talking while he unlocks his car.

Luke is crisp and clear today, unfolding and coming to life.

The three crocheting nans are in a huddle.

“He’s definitely in love,” Audrey says.

Luke is on the other side of the rec room, gently easing a cushion behind the frail old back of Bessie, 82 and crippled with arthritis. He knows the crocheting nans are talking about him and gives them a playful, narrow eyed stare, which makes them twitter and giggle.

He’s light in his heart but sore. They shouldn’t be separated, he and Craig, not today. They should be bound up together at home, not talking, just lying together.

Craig feels it too, consciously aware that he will see Luke tonight, that they will lie and sleep together tonight, but still bereft without him.

The day drags like a rag through the dirt, listless and ultimately uninteresting.

Luke stops on the way home and buys two bottles of wine and a selection of fridge magnets.

Craig leaves work early and but Luke is already chopping veg when he gets home.

“Hey,” he says as he walks in the kitchen.

“Hello.” Luke puts his knife down and Craig walks straight into his arms,

They hold each other silently. So much has happened and not a single word describes it.

Craig rests his chin on the soft spikes of Luke’s hair. It’s a perfect fit, and he is just about to announce this when he sees the gallery of Joshua’s pictures Luke has made.

Luke has fixed the four colourful drawings in careful order across the fridge.

“Love the exhibition!” Craig says softly.

Luke turns around to see what he looking at.

“Oh, the ducks! You know, they’re great drawings for a three year old.”

“I think Lola helped him.”

“Lola?”

“His sister. She’s six. My niece.” Craig looks at the hungry duck, happy duck, lonely duck and frightened duck Joshua and Lola have drawn. “One of my nieces.”

“Are they baptised?” Luke wonders, still loosely linked in Craig’s arms.

Craig leans back to look clearly at Luke’s face. “We’re ALL baptised,” he smiles.

“I’m not,” Luke says, worried.

Craig draws him close and nuzzles his ear. “Heathen,” he whispers playfully.

Luke tries to think of the opposite of heathen but can’t.

They chat cheerfully over vegetables and left over chicken stirfry. Craig tells Luke about the Mansours and his brothers and sisters, Luke tells Craig about Bessie’s bad back, the plotting nans and his brothers and sisters.

They wait up for the Reverend and Mrs Gilmore. Luke secretly wants to hear Craig’s mother talk some more.

While they wait they sit together with a glass of wine in the lounge, laying all over each other on the couch. There’s not much to say tonight; whatever’s left over they whisper in incomplete sentences that they punctuate with kisses.

Craig’s mother doesn’t disappoint. They come home at ten, she full of stories about Nicole and Andrew and the servants’ exhibition and the nice nurses at the hospital where dad had his tests; Luke makes cocoa.

Reverend Gilmore loves the duck gallery on the fridge.

When Craig and Luke finally get to bed Luke surrenders completely. Afterwards they tangle their bodies together, sticky and sated, and fall asleep quickly. 

Day Sixteen

The Gilmores are going back to Wales.

“Now Luke says we should take the west London Road, that if we bypass WImbledon and just go straight towards the Reading we’ll get out quicker and miss some of the morning traffic, we can stop off for a cup of tea when we get to Newbury, we shouldn’t drive too long though, you know Craig Dad always gets a headache when he drives for more than an hour or two, I think he has to get new glasses. I wish you’d talk to him, he listens to you, never takes a scrap of notice of me, I don’t know why I bother sometimes. Now Luke,” Mrs Gilmore draws a breath and turns her dialogue to the rapt Ashton “I want you to come and see us at Easter with Craig. He never brings anyone home and his brothers and sisters think he’s ashamed of them…”

“Oh they do not,” Craig says with amused mock irritation as he stacks her overnight bag into the boot of their car.

Mrs Gilmore winks at Luke and he grins delightedly. “They do, and I know they would love to meet you. And don’t you worry about David baptising you, it was just a joke, we’ve never baptised anyone in the house, but its lovely at Easter, you can come to the Easter service, the church is so beautiful, all the spring flowers and we have a big family dinner on the Sunday. Craig missed last year because he had just started at the new station but he’s got no excuse this year,” she turns to Craig, “you listening to me? You’ve got no excuse this year so you make sure you’re home in time for Sunday service and bring Luke with you. Now before I go have we got everything? I always forget something…”

“You’ve got everything,” Craig says warmly as he hugs her. “Go home.”

She pats his face affectionately. “Don’t you think I won’t be ringing up to check to make sure you’re coming home for Easter and bringing Luke with you…”

“I know you will,” he tells her as he kisses her cheek.

As she makes her way over to the passenger seat she stops at Luke and pats his face too.

“You know, I think you might be Welsh Luke, you have the loveliest skin, do you know if you have any Welsh relatives? Well, I know we’re related one way or another but I’m sure if you asked your mum about your family you’d find that you have some relatives in Wales somewhere or another…”

“If you come at Easter we can make you Methodist too,” Craig’s father says dryly.

“I’m pretty sure I’m English,” Luke says hesitantly before Mrs Gilmore can go any further.

“My parents like you,” Craig says when they have left. He and Luke are making their breakfast. It is the first time they have done this together.

“Do they?” Luke’s face is shiny and young, so bright on this grey morning. He leans in to Craig’s space, lowering his voice. “Does their son?”

“I like you,” Craig says shyly, not looking up.

Craig is stripping the bed in the spare room and can hear Luke’s cute, tuneless voice carrying through from the shower. The song he is singing is vaguely familiar, the words more so than the shapeless tune.

Craig tries to place to place the random words he picks up of Luke’s song: “Billy Ray..when daddy was visiting ..took me walking..yes he was, he was..”

He passes Luke, shiny and fresh, as he makes his way to the laundry. “The only boy who could ever reach me was the son of a preacher man..” Luke sings softly.

Humourous duck.

They are both late for work, both high spirited and cheerful, and their goodwill seems to spread over the day’s events that connect with them. Craig manages to convince a teenage runaway to return home to his distraught mother and stepfather, he finishes his filing and, when his quarterly report is returned, sighted and signed by the borough commander, he sees his relief has contributed to the 0.4 per cent decrease in crime in the district.

Sean calls him late in the afternoon.

“Are you hiding from me, girlfriend?”

Craig smiles, but gives a serious answer.

“I’ve been busy. My parents were down for a couple of days.”

“How’s the houseguest? Still ironing your shirts?”

Craig fidgets at his desk, says nothing.

“Has he gone?”

“No.”

“Is he still in the spare room?”

“No.”

“On the couch?” Sean likes to explore all possibilities before he declares the glass half full.

“No.”

“In your bed?”

“Our bed,” Craig says defensively.

Sean makes a delighted, triumphant face but his answer is sober.

“How do you feel?”

I’ve grown nerves in my heart.

“Good. Happy.”

“How’s Luke?”

“It’s early days, but he seems okay.”

“Is he out properly?”

“He is to me,” Craig answers.

Luke, too, is having a good day. He persuades arthritic Bessie to spend some time with the physiotherapist who visits the facility twice a week, he helps the crocheting nans bundle up their first cache of little blankets to send to Africa and posts them himself on his way home.

After the post office he goes to the cash machine, and then to the fishmongers, and then picks up a bottle of wine from the off licence.

Craig smells spices and herbs when he walks up the hall. He finds Luke studying a recipe in the kitchen. They smile at each other, the house to themselves, the relationship apparently underway.

The only restrictions now are the ones they impose on each other.

“Dinner smells nice,” Craig offers.

“I’m not sure if I’m doing it right. I’m not good with fish.”

Luke gives him the recipe card for the salmon dish he is making. Currently big hunks of the coral fish are poaching with shreds of herbs.

Craig checks the recipe and peers over Luke’s shoulder into the shallow pan.

“It looks fantastic,” he confirms.

Luke is looking at Craig, there doesn’t appear to be anything else in the room anymore. All the bits of his face, Luke thinks once more, that it is possible to love them separately and all together at the same time.

Craig meets his gaze and waits the seconds it takes for Luke to kiss him. It is a soft, nervous kiss, a little uncertain.

Learning duck.

The fish is fine, they eat happily as they discuss Bessie’s back, the blankets en route to Africa, teenage runaways and how long it takes to drive to Wales.

They walk together to the video library, return last week’s takings and choose another week’s worth together. They take the long way home, through the stiff frosty cold, talking, making casual observations about the neighbourhood, asking each other questions. After a while Luke slips his hand around Craig’s waist to see what will happen. Craig responds without thinking, gently draping his hand over Luke’s shoulder.

When they reach the white light of the next street light Luke stops and kisses Craig’s cold lips. Craig kisses Luke’s forehead, draws him a little closer and they keep walking.

That night Luke comes to Craig naked, his underwear in the laundry hamper with the rest of his clothes. He makes his way to Craig’s skin eagerly, pushing the duvet away. Craig runs his hands all over him, smooth and unyielding as a stone, but so hot, so loving.

“Come with me,” he says to Luke, grasping his cock, wrapping Luke’s hand around his own member. They sit facing each other on the bed, concentrate closely on their rhythm then Luke sees what he feels like to Craig and it makes him come straight way too, but this time he doesn’t want to cry.

Instead it coats him with adoration, makes him feel that he could follow Craig to the end of the earth.

Day Seventeen

Luke is dressed and ready to go at 5.30am, just about to walk out into the cold when he remembers something.

Craig stirs briefly, still toasty and soft in bed, when he feels a kiss on his face.

“Have a good day,” a small voice whispers to him in the dark.

When Craig makes his way to the kitchen an hour and half later he finds two kinds of notes.

I don’t know how much to give you hope this is a start, L

one reads.

The others are three twenty pound notes.

Contributing duck.

Luke learns from one of the fulltime nurses at the hospital that a new male resident will be joining the small group.

“The girls will eat him alive,” Luke laughs with the nurse.

News of the new arrival causes much talk amongst the other residents. Audrey, Maudie and Mavis, already at work on their next set of blankets, lead the conversation.

“Is he handsome? He can’t come here if he’s not handsome,” Maudie warns Luke.

“I hear he’s gorgeous,” Luke says seriously when he brings them morning tea.

“How are you feeling, love?” Mavis wants to know. “We thought you were looking peaky.”

“I’m great,” Luke tells her as he deftly tucks a cotton throw around her shoulders. The rec room can be chilly.

“We thought you might be in love!” Audrey suggests cheekily.

Luke looks at her, hedging his bets with his answer.

“I am,” he smiles broadly, and leaves them oohing and aahing. Audrey was right!

Craig is signing time sheets, requests for leave and noting sick leave applications against attendance sheets. He is stuck yet again on one of Proctor’s unique interpretations of the twenty four hour clock when Rima taps at his door.

“Hello,” he says, a little distracted.

“Crime stats were good,” she starts.

“They were, weren’t they?” Craig is surprised she even reads them.

“I wanted to ask you something.”

Craig puts his pen down and gives her full attention.

“Don’t think I’m being rude,” she begins.

Another question about being gay.

“I won’t.”

“I’ve just been wondering, why don’t you join CID?”

Not at all what he was expecting, and Craig has no answer. “Sorry?”

“I wondered, you’re very bright and good at your job. Why do you stay in uniform?”

“I prefer it,” Craig tells her. “I’m not interested in detective work. I like the admin side, and I like the policy side, and I like being part of the team. Never been interested in CID.”

“And being gay’s got nothing to do with it?”

Craig’s face blurs. “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“It’s hard for anyone who’s not a straight white male to get ahead. I wondered if you thought about it and gave up.”

“If I wanted to do it my sexuality wouldn’t get in my way,” he tells her a little stiffly.

She shrugs, “I just got thinking, after you mentioned your boyfriend the other night. I mean, I get enough flak, being a woman. It just got me thinking what you must get from them.”

“It’s actually not that bad.”

“Is your partner in the force?”

“He was. He left a few months ago.”

“How did he find it?”

“Hard, but he’s younger.”

Rima raises her eyebrows. “What does he do now?”

“He’s about to start nursing.”

She nods, satisfied. “Good choice. Hope he does well.”

“Thanks.”

And she leaves him, her sharp, thin heels echoing along the hall.

Stickybeak duck. Craig smiles to himself as he returns to Proctor’s improbable calculations.

Luke is at home by two that afternoon. He is piling Craig’s shirts into the machine and stops for a second. Then he reaches into the basket and pulls a few of his own shirts out, settling them in the machine next to Craig’s.

He starts the chicken soup early, so the house is fragrant and inviting when Craig comes home a few hours later.

“I love your soup,” he tells Luke as he draws him close.

Luke leans his head back against Craig’s chest. Love, love.

“I missed you,” he says with his eyes closed. “All day.”

The little words ring in Craig’s ears.

“Did you?”

Luke nods, comfortable in the embrace.

“I missed you too,” Craig replies. “ I look..I really ..” but he can’t quite make the sentence fit what he wants Luke to know.

“What do you?” Luke asks, alert, leaning his face back.

Craig kisses the beautiful jaw. “I look forward to talking to you.”

Luke bites his bottom lip. “I have left over missed bits,” he explains. “I missed you for so long and it’s mixed in with the missing you now.”

Craig chuckles and tightens his hold. “That’s it exactly.”

Over dinner Luke tells Craig about the new gramps who will come to the hospital tomorrow, the expectation of the nans and that the washing is done. Craig tells him about Proctor’s timesheets, Rima’s stickybeaking and Sean’s stickybeaking.

When they’re washing up Luke has an idea.

“Do you want to have another walk?”

“Not too cold?” Craig wonders.

“I’m not. It was nice, last night.”

“It was nice.”

They walk the inky dark streets, past the white lights of the shops, near the park, along the long rows of houses. Luke tells Craig a bit more about his mum and his sisters and brother and shows them the street where they live.

Craig tells Luke a bit more about his brother and sisters.

“Are you the oldest?” Luke asks.

“Second oldest. Are you?”

“Second youngest. I have a little sister.” Luke pauses for minute. “She’s a goth.”

“One of those black witchy types?”

“Yeah!” And they laugh.

“You’ll have to meet them,” Luke says casually.

“Do they know you’re – are you out to them?”

Luke nods calmly. “Mum knows, and my sisters know.”

“Not your brother?”

“He’s in Italy with his girlfriend.” Luke thinks for minute. “I’ll tell him when they come home.”

“Is he on holiday?”

“He works for the Intercontinental hotels chain. He’s there for another few months.”

“Are you close?”

“Not really. I mean, we get on, but not close.” Luke thinks for a minute. “I’m close to Wendy. The goth.”

Their faces are raw and cold when they get home. Luke touches Craig’s cool cheek as they shed their coats and scarves in the hall. Craig takes the cold fingers in his own and holds them to his lips, puffing warm air on to them.

“Heating duck!” Luke grins.

Tonight it is Luke is waiting for Craig in bed, his arms open, his eyes eager. As Craig dissolves under the touches and kisses he feels his arms flailing, trying to hold onto the man taking him, in his pleasured haze unable to ascertain where Luke starts or finishes. It doesn’t matter because Luke holds him tightly, perfectly certain, mostly confident. 

Day Eighteen

Craig is quiet when he slips out of bed, careful not to wake Luke who doesn’t start until ten.

When he gets downstairs though, Luke has already been in the kitchen. The sealed bowl of soup is there, and there is also a little package - three biscuits wrapped in cling film sit on the lid of the soup. Each has its own note.

Duck refs

says the biscuits.

Duck soup!!!

says the bowl.

Before he leaves Craig creeps quietly up the stairs to say goodbye. Luke is on Craig’s side of the bed, the pillow crushed under his head. Craig crouches down to kiss his face but Luke is half awake and, in the dark, reaches out a warm lazy hand.

“Thank you for lunch,” Craig whispers, kissing the bristly face.

“Anyone can tell you they love you,” Luke says in hoarse sleepy voice.

“Sorry?” The statement is surprising, straight out of nowhere.

“Anyone can tell you that they love you,” Luke repeats in the dark. Craig can feel him stretch, his hot scent rises from the sheets. “I think the important bit is showing someone that you love them.”

And the warm strong body goes still, the hand is limp in Craig’s, as if this critical explanation temporarily sapped Luke’s strength.

Craig kisses him again, his heart seeping.

Later at the aged facility, Luke is standing at the end of the corridor, nervous and picking at his thumb. A small flabby piece of cuticle is coming loose. He is watching one of the new gramps making his way up the corridor, supported by his son.

The old man is distressed, he repeats over and over that he shouldn’t be here. His voice is creaky and helpless.

Luke’s heart is large and icy, it beats hard in his chest as he watches from a distance.

“I have a Luke Ashton on the line for you,” the front desk officer says to Craig.

Craig grins. “Hello!”

Once more he has been dropped in the unfamiliar suburb where Luke seems to have been for some time.

“The man who bashed me. Who took my wallet.” Craig can feel the agitation crackling over the line.

“What about him?”

“He’s here. He’s with the new gramps.”

“Are you certain?” Craig immediately bites his lip, wincing.

But Luke was a policeman. He knows.

“It’s definitely him. I’m certain.”

Craig has to explain the situation quickly to Inspector Bartlett. He does this after he closes Bartlett’s door, and concentrates on keeping his shoulders straight and his sentences short.

“Your partner’s certain?” Bartlett does not doubt Craig.

Craig nods. “He was in the force. We worked together briefly at Sun Hill. He knows the implications of wasting police time.”

“Fair enough.” Bartlett considers the implications of an arrest in an old persons’ hostel, and the effect it will have the father of the Wallet Basher.

“Take a WPC,” Bartlett says. Then he considers the uniform. “Maybe one of CID.”

“So your partner was attacked?” Rima asks as she drives. She is more interested in seeing Luke than getting this creep of the streets. “Was he alright?”

“He was okay.” Craig stares out the window. He remembers Luke swearing at him in the cell, Luke yelling at him on his front door step, soaking wet, then Luke smiling at him in the kitchen. Always looking up, always smiling, safe in Craig’s house.

Luke is in the main office with the director of Nursing and the rostered charge nurse. He and Craig lock eyes for a second when he follows Rima in to the room.

Craig lets Rima do the talking.

“I’m concerned for the patients,” the director says, “but obviously we want to co-operate. I’ve had one of the nursing assistants bring Mr McLeod up here.” She looks at Craig carefully and then at Luke. People have interesting lives.

“We don’t want this to be difficult any more than you do,” Rima tells her with clinical assurance. “Hopefully we can just make the arrest in here, and take him out through the back.”

“How many people has he attacked?” the Director asks.

“Eight people have reported the attacks, but obviously, given the nature of the crimes, there’s more likely a lot more.”

The Director of Nursing flicks a quick glance at Luke, and then to Craig, who is staring straight at her. Then the door opens, Craig steps slightly out of the way, and Mr McLeod follows the nursing assistant into the room.

Mr McLeod looks at Luke, then at Craig, and knows exactly what is going to happen.

“Filthy little bastard,” he sputters aggressively, lunging at Luke, but cries out in shock when Craig seizes his arms and clicks them tightly together behind his back.

The Director of Nursing looks at Luke, who is milky white, biting his deep red bottom lip. Very interesting lives.

Luke spends the rest of his shift talking with Teddy McLeod, who is sad and disjointed in the rec room. Teddy looks around him, over at the tittering crocheting nans, over at the small wandering group that cluster in and around the television, over through the large streaked window that offers a pleasing view of the quiet suburban street.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he says to Luke in a miserable wavering voice. “I can look after myself.”

“You’ve had both your hips replaced, haven’t you?” Luke asks nicely.

Teddy nods.

“Must have been hard in your house,” Luke says. “All those stairs.”

“I did okay,” Teddy says sadly. “Tom said he was going to sell the house. Said we needed the money.”

“Is there just you and Tom?”

Teddy makes a contemptuous snort. “When he’s around. When he can be bothered.”

Luke and Teddy are interrupted by little shuffling violet-scented group clutching brightly coloured bags of knitting.

“Hello,” Audrey says sweetly. “We’ve come to welcome you to our little home.”

When Luke leaves later that day he pops his head into the rec room and sees Teddy is still the centre of a rather captivated group of women.

Luke walks home through the High Street. He stops when he sees a cheerful display in WH Smiths and makes an impulse purchase.

He is skewering cubes of meat on sticks when Craig calls in the evening.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing Craig wants to know.

“I’m fine,” Luke tells him. “Has he been charged?”

Craig sighs. “With that and everything else.”

“What?”

“We’ve linked him to a whole series of attacks, not only in London but a couple in Sheffield. One really bad one.”

“How bad?”

“He robbed and bashed a bloke with diabetes. The bloke died a week or so later from complications.”

Luke is quiet.

“You did good,” Craig says quietly. “It was really brave of you.”

“Are you coming home soon?”

“Not for a couple of hours. He might have to go up to Sheffield tonight, so I have to make sure we can organise the transport and make sure they don’t try to pinch any of my relief to do it.”

“Give me a call when you’re on your way and I’ll get dinner on.”

“Will do.” Craig’s voice is soft and compliant.

When he rings off Luke stands in the quiet kitchen, shaking a little, nervous and seemingly surrounded by all kinds of bolts of all kinds of fears.

He studies the meat very hard, cuts it very carefully, spears it very slowly.

Luke is folding the washing, smoothing the creases when Craig calls later.

“I’m on my way,” he says, and Luke can hear he is in the car.

“See you soon.”

The meat has just started browning under the grill when Craig comes home tired and hungry.

“I’ve run you a bath,” Luke tells him with mischievous eyes.

“Now?”

“Have a bath, then I’ll feed you,” he promises.

Anyone can tell you they love you.

The bathroom is steamy. Clean towels are folded in easy reach of the tub; Craig’s gown hangs from the hook on the door.

The tub is full of clear hot water and Ducky Duddles bobs along the top.

Ducky Duddles was a hit with lots of children over Christmas and the enthusiastic marketing division of the publishing company has already got the first wave of licensed toys on the market.

The first product is a rubber duck in a perfect likeness of Duddles. He floats around Craig’s knees, smiling – evidently a happy duck – his little feathers etched in plastic, his beak bright orange, his merry eyes fixed gazing to the side. He seems to watch Craig as he floats past.

Craig grabs the plastic tail and pulls Duddles under the water, holds him there for a few seconds and then lets him go.

He bobs up, cheerful and pretty as ever.

Resilient duck.

Craig enjoys the kebabs Luke has made with lamb and capsicum.

“I just felt like something hot and spicy,” he smiles at Luke as he carefully inches the tender meat from the sticks. “Nice. Thank you.”

And they talk about Teddy, his criminal son, the shrewd way Craig managed to get Prison Services to take Tom to Sheffield and the plastic Duddles. The contents of their day have overlapped.

Craig is tired, still warm from the bath, greedy and helpless for Luke.

“You can wait,” Luke tells him in a low voice salty with anticipation and fear. He washes up slowly, Craig dries but feels like he is stalking him.

“Am I stalking you?” he asks Luke a little later as they brush their teeth.

Luke grins at him with a mouth full of foam. The fears are going.

Craig wants to throw him over his shoulder and cart him away.

But he’s gentle, exercises his knowledge of Luke’s body carefully and tenderly, feeling as if Luke is in control. Luke holds him and moans loudly as Craig fixes their bodies together. It feels to him as if Craig has complete control, that he understands everything, that he can stop or start Luke’s heart with one word or one touch.

Day Nineteen

Luke has this Friday off. He is planning to buy some text books for his new course, pick up some groceries, drop in on his mum, maybe watch the dvds he and Craig haven’t got to this week.

He is making his way to the laundry that morning when he sees the photo of his family in amongst Craig’s photos. It looks odd, his immediate group of people, in amongst strangers. Yet when he looks around and wonders where else it could go there is nowhere, and it occurs to him that eventually the photo will not look out of place. Not once he gets used to it there.

He smiles as he thinks of Craig finding the photo, placing it carefully amongst his own. Then he realises it’s probably been there a while already.

Craig is busy at work, still arguing with a belligerent officer over at Prison Services who is complaining that his staff had to transport a prisoner last night.

“Would it have killed a couple of your guys to make a three hour drive?” the officer growls.

Craig is cool and precise. “It’s not our role to transport prisoners and I don’t have dedicated staff or the vehicles to make the trip within the correct guidelines.”

The officer starts to complain more wildly but Craig raises his voice and makes his next point.

“If I’ve breached your guidelines I suggest you speak with my supervising officer, Inspector Bartlett. I can put you through now if you like.” 

The whining officer backs down, still grumbling and negative but not prepared to take it any further.

Luke finishes all the ironing before midday.

Craig is indecisive over lunch. He feels like soup, but there are only clotted casseroles and curling sandwiches in the canteen.

Luke makes coffee in the early afternoon and idly wanders over to the window. He notices next door’s messy courtyard for the first time. There goes the neighbourhood, he smiles to himself.

“We’re going down the pub,” Rima tells Craig later in the afternoon when she sees him in the corridor. “Do you want to come?”

Craig shakes his head before he’s even thought about it.

“Big night planned?” she asks with warm smile.

He says nothing, but his down turned face is a little pink.

“You could bring Luke if you wanted to come,” she tries again.

“No,” Craig days, gathering himself. It’s too soon. “We’ve got plans.”

“Okay.” She doesn’t move. “How old is he?”

“Twenty five.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty three.”

She nods, as if she thought as much.

“Why?” he asks.

She smiles, a trifle embarrassed. “I thought you’d be the kind who’d prefer older types.”

He laughs politely. “No,” is all he says.

Craig’s phone is ringing when he gets back to his desk, and he rushes for it before it diverts to voicemail.

“Craig Gilmore,” he says a little breathlessly.

“Do I still excite you, girlfriend?” Sean says wickedly.

Craig is flustered. “I rushed for the phone…,” but Sean cuts him off.

“Ray and I are having a little soiree tonight,” he tells Craig. “Thought you might like come and bring your manservant with you.”

Craig buys some time. “A soiree?”

“Oh, alright, I’m cooking pasta and thought you and Luke would like to come over.”

Craig is silent.

“He’s going to have to mix with his own kind sooner or later, honey.”

“His own kind?”

“US! Gay men! Queers! Boys like us! You can’t keep him wrapped up in tissue forever.”

Craig thinks of Luke on the door step in the rain, his eyes flashing with hate and fear, unable to tell him how wrong everything was.

“I’ll have to check with him,” Craig says. “I’ll call you back.”

Luke senses the hesitation in Craig’s voice when he calls. “No, I’d really like to,” says straight away. “Do you want to go?”

“Only if you want to,” Craig says.

“Is he going to make me put picture rails up too?” Luke asks waggishly as they stand at Sean’s front door.

“Come in,” Ray says warmly. He slyly checks Luke over from the tip of his closely cropped head right through to the toes of his black boots. When he raises his eyes he sees Craig staring at him, his face unreadable.

“Nice to meet you again,” Sean says with a genuine smile. He extends his hand and Luke shakes it with commensurate sincerity.

“Nice to meet you,” he answers.

The soiree is a success. Sean is a good cook, Ray is very funny and Craig relaxes considerably. Luke feels like a child on an outing with the grown ups for the first hour or so, but Sean makes a generous effort to include him in the conversation, to find common ground. It is difficult, because they are very different men.

They find their common ground when Luke talks about the nans.

“You haven’t met a nan ‘til you’ve met my nan,” Sean tells him with a serious, dramatic voice.

Craig makes a face. “Here we go,” he says to Luke. “The tales of super gran.”

When they drive home Craig thinks about ducks, moods and the way moods change. He imagines an angry snapping duck, then a frightened, trembling duck, then an eager little duck, following around the first living creature it meets and regarding it, rightly or wrongly, as its mother.

Then a confident adult duck, scratching for food, aware of its place in the world.

When they stop at the lights he realises that Luke is looking at him, smiling, His face glows in the beam of the street lights.

“Thoughtful duck,” he grins at Craig, and squeezes his thigh firmly. Craig waits to see how long the hand stays there but it doesn’t budge, squeezing and stroking, pressing into the fabric of his jeans around the soft fatty padding on the inside of his thigh.

Craig keeps his eyes on the road. He feels as if he unravelling, that Luke has caught a small thread of his control and is gently bringing him undone.

When he parks the car he straightens his back and closes his eyes as Luke makes more deliberate strokes along the thigh.

“Should we go inside?” he asks Craig calmly after a few seconds.

“We should.”

When Craig closes the door behind them, shuts the world away, Luke is on him instantly, intense and persistent. He pushes Craig towards the stairs, his mouth open and wet, his arms and chest strong and capable. He still feels vulnerable to Craig, the great wash of protective love rush along the nerves of his heart as he pulls and holds Luke fast against him. They barely make it to the stairs, stumbling in the dark, laughing in one another’s arms, tugging at each other’s clothes.

They take each other on the landing in the dark, clothes half on, half off, wanton and perfectly in tune.

Afterward Craig sits up against the stairs and Luke leans back against him, panting and slick with sweat. He stretches and hooks his arms around Craig’s neck, expanding his chest, pushing his body outward. Luke feels powerful and owned; Craig, sucking tenderly on his neck, holding tightly around his waist, feels the ownership with intense pride.

Day Twenty

On this Saturday Craig wakes skew-wiff in bed, aware of a rasping dryness all along his back and thighs. Carpet burn. He reaches across but the bed is empty.

Missing duck.

When Craig comes back from the bathroom Luke is sitting cross-legged on the bed eating a bowl of porridge.

He makes a little quaking a noise at Craig when he kisses him.

“Quack yourself,” Craig says lovingly as he collects his porridge. “Thanks for making breakfast!”

“You’re welcome.”

They sit and discuss what they might do this weekend.

“I hardly did anything yesterday,” Luke explains. “I think I was exhausted.”

“You’ve had a pretty busy couple of weeks,” Craig agrees.

Luke looks up and smiles, sending tiny charges along Craig’s heart nerves.

“I have, haven’t I?”

“You have.” Craig stirs his porridge, the question burning. “Is it okay? Here, I mean. Is it okay?”

Luke’s eyes are clear and faithful. “Yeah. It’s really good.” He holds Craig’s gaze easily. “Everything. It’s good.”

“Still scared of me?” Craig asks quickly.

“No.” Luke take a spoonful of porridge and adds with a full mouth and dancing eyes, “not much.”

They lead each other through a myriad of minor turns in their life today. They start by listening to a six minute message Craig’s mam left last night, explaining (amongst other things) that Dad’s test results were fine. Next they return the DVDs they never watched then get some more which they cheerfully admit they probably won’t watch either. Then they pick up a few groceries and Craig drops in a roll of film he has been meaning to have processed since he returned from his Christmas holidays.

Next they drive over to Lewisham where there’s a large medical textbook store and Luke buys three volumes of the formidable Gray’s anatomy.

“I have to learn the whole body, piece by piece,” Luke says apprehensively.

“You can practice on me,” Craig answers.

They drive down on down to Dulwich where Craig knows of a nice cafe and they have lunch together looking out on to the rain.

“I should go visit my mum,” Luke says quietly.

“Alright.” Craig is reasonable, understanding. “I’ll drop you off.”

Look looks up quickly. “Don’t you want to come?”

The worried face tug’s Craig’s heart nerves. “Sure, sorry! I didn’t know you meant me to come.”

“I thought you’d like to meet her.”

“I would. I want to meet Wendy too.”

Luke smiles broadly. “She has her lips pierced in two places.”

“Sounds lovely,” is the most neutral response Craig can conjure, and Luke laughs again.

“Are you a cop?” Wendy asks Craig with a cheerful voice that has the same timbre as Luke’s. Craig is sitting with her in Luke’s mother’s kitchen. Luke is making coffee.

“I am.” Craig is transfixed by the two lip piercings, one on the left hand side of her bottom lip, the other on the right hand side of her top lip. He tries not to stare but he can’t stop; not just at the piercings, but at the thick coat of black-bloody lipstick she is wearing.

“Do the rings freak you out?” she asks hopefully.

“No, I’m trying to work how your get your lipstick on over them.”

She laughs. Even through her thick flawless make up and her long black and purple streaked hair Craig can see an odd resemblance to Luke.

“I take them out!” she says delightedly. No one has ever asked her that before; she’s very pleased that Craig has noticed her lipstick. “So you like them?”

“The piercings?” He looks up and sees Luke shaking his head very theatrically.

“You shut up,” Wendy says to her brother playfully. “Don’t listen to him. Do you like them?”

“They’re very attractive,” Craig says with a straight face.

This delights her further.

“Did you meet Luke when he was in the force?” 

“Yeah. We were at Sun Hill.”

“I thought of being a cop for a while,” Wendy says, swinging one black stockinged leg over the other. “”But I thought they’d make me take all my piercings out.”

“Well, you’d hardly inspire confidence in the public with your lips pierced, would you?” her big brother says as he puts a steaming mug in front of her.

Wendy rolls her eyes. They are the exact same tone of hazel as Luke’s.

“What do you do?” Craig asks as he sips.

“I’m at college, doing history and library studies.”

“You want to be a librarian?”

“A curator, or an archivist on one of the big museums.”

Craig is impressed. “I’ve always wondered how you get to do that.”

“Well, you have to have a bachelor’s degree at least, and then they start you right at the bottom of the pile.” She winds a purple lock of hair around her fingers. “It’s interesting, though, especially if you can get into one of the big places.” This reminds her something. “A friend of mine has two weeks’ internship at the MMA in New York in summer.”

“Who?” Luke asks as he sits down to join them.

“Emma Bowers? Did you meet her?”

“The one who shaved her head?”

Wendy rolls her eyes again. “That was years ago.”

The front door latch clicks; Luke’s mother is home from the shops.

“There you are!” she says to Luke with a friendly warm face. She leans over, he half stands to kiss her. Mrs Ashton strokes Wendy’s hair while with her free hand while Luke is still leaning over her.

“Weren’t you crimson this morning?”

“I got bored with it,” Wendy says blithely. “Have you met mum, Craig?”

Mrs Ashton has a good look at the tall shy man at her table.

“Hello! I’ve heard about you. You were at Sun Hill, weren’t you?”

“Hello.” Craig extends his hand to her.

“Is he behaving?” Luke’s mother asks with a laugh as she takes Craig’s hand.

“He is,” Craig says in quiet tones.

“Sit down, I’ll get you a cuppa,” Wendy says obligingly, giving her seat to her mother.

It’s no surprise to Mrs Ashton that her youngest son has gradually disappeared from the house and gone to live with his older male lover without any prior arrangement; she talks as if this kind of thing is to be expected in the family.

“We all pretty much come and go as we please,” Luke explains to Craig when they get home that night. They’re unpacking the groceries and fruit they bought this morning. “I mean, I went to Africa, and Julie took off and lived in Greece for two years, and I came home after she did – I dunno, it’s a pretty relaxed family.”

“Wendy’s nice,” Craig says as he stacks oranges in a bowl. “I don’t remember seeing her at your wedding.”

It slipped out. It is the first time they’ve mentioned it.

Luke makes an irritated face. “She didn’t go. Kerry had a big fight with her.”

Craig is not sure whether to take it any further.

“Kerry didn’t ask her to be a bridesmaid or even get her involved in the wedding or anything.” Luke doesn’t elaborate, but Craig could see why Kerry might have issues with Wendy.

“Wendy’s very sweet. I think Kerry was wrong,” Craig says.

Luke sighs. “I wished I’d kicked up a fuss now. She kept going on about how it was her day, but …” and that’s all he says.

Craig stuffs the plastic carrier bags in to a cloth holder he hangs inside the cleaning cupboard.

“Well, if we get married Wendy would be my first choice as a bridesmaid.” He says it as a joke, but when he stands up he can see Luke, for the first time, has grasped something crucial about their relationship, about being gay.

No matter how a person fills you with fear or longing or love, it stops here. It moves no further than your hearts.

Luke speaks without thinking. “Stupid, really, how I could marry Kerry for all the wrong reasons, yet could never marry you for all the right reasons.”

Craig nods. That’s about the sum of it.

The kitchen is quiet for a moment as the right reasons engulf them.

“What do you want to do tonight?” Craig changes the subject and wraps his arms around Luke’s waist. “Do you want to go to dinner? See a movie?”

Luke breathes deeply, Craig feels him expand and contract in his arms.

“I want to order in some Chinese then have a bath with you and Duddles.”

“Sounds planned,” Craig says in a low policeman’s voice.

“It is,” Luke answers with his own low policeman’s voice.

“I’ve never had a bath with anyone,” Luke says as they laze facing one another in the warm water. Duddles is bobbing around Luke’s chest.

“Ever?” Craig is surprised.

“Well, mum used to chuck us all in the bath when we were very little, but I don’t think that counts.”

“It doesn’t,” Craig confirms.

“Kerry was always trying to get me in the bath with her.”

“Why didn’t you?” It’s on both their minds, Kerry, the wedding. Duddles, meanwhile is floating up towards Craig.

“I didn’t want her looking at me,” Luke says as he examines Craig’s long feet.

Craig suppresses a smile.

“It was embarrassing,” Luke adds. “I suppose you’ve had lots of baths with lots of blokes.” He continues to look at Craig’s feet. There’s a small scar on the ball of his left foot.

“A couple.” Craig closes his eyes as Luke strokes the surface of his foot.

“Only a couple?”

“Only a couple.” He remembers, eyes closed. “Never sober, come to think of it.”

“With Sean?”

“No, never with Sean.”

“Why?”

Craig opens his eyes and shrugs his shoulders. Duddles’ path is blocked by his armpit. He turns the duck around and sends him back towards Luke.

“Never happened. We weren’t a bathing kind of couple. Not together.”

“What kind of couple were you?”

Craig laughs gently. “A fighting couple.”

“Who did you have a bath with?”

Craig sighs, cornered.

“A boy called Anthony when I was nineteen, and a bloke whose name I honestly can’t remember just after I went to Manchester.”

“Was Anthony a serious thing?”

“For eight months, yes. Then he threw me over for one of his lecturers at college.”

“What about the Manchester bloke?”

Craig shakes his head slowly. “I was pretty drunk,” he smiles.

“How’d you know you had a bath with him?”

“I woke up in the bath the next morning. Luckily he drained it before he got out and left me there.”

“At his place?”

“At mine.”

Luke scowls. “Bloody rude,” he says as he tries to unfold Craig’s bunched up little toe. “He could have at least put you to bed.”

Duddles stops as his hits Luke’s hard tummy, and is redirected to Craig.

“What happened to your foot?”

“The scar? Surprised you can still see it. I cut it on a stone on the beach when I was ten.”

“Must have been deep,” Luke notes as he squints at the thread of long-closed skin.

“Five stitches,” Craig says proudly. But it’s still on his mind. “Was it hard, sleeping with Kerry?”

Luke clasps the foot with both hands and nods. “Not at first. I barely thought about it at first. It got harder. After we got married it was bloody impossible.”

Craig waits in case there are further details.

Luke looks at him gravely. “It was impossible after we spent the night together.”

“I thought you didn’t enjoy it much, the stag night.”

Luke is definite. “No, you’re wrong. I did. I really did. I wasn’t relaxed, but it was what I wanted. I just didn’t know it until a few days later.”

He sighs and inches up a bit further. “I’m getting cold.”

Craig sits up too. “Let’s get out then.” He stands up and, when he’s sure of his hold, extends his arm to Luke, who uses it to lever his weight upright. They stand dripping on the bathmat as the water swirls down the drain. Duddles rides the little whirlpool.

Craig knots a towel around his waist and takes another, drying Luke’s back and shoulders. He looks glossy and new, unspoilt and smooth. His skin is flawless, subtly ruddy after the warm water, soft to the touch. Craig traces his fingers over the thick well shaped muscles, the hard curve of his arse, the bulge of his thigh. Even his pubic hair, now crowning the rigid arch of his erection, is shiny and fresh.  
It turns Craig on just looking at him.

He is so absorbed in Luke’s body, his beauty and youth, that Craig doesn’t notice Luke looking at him.

Luke runs his fingertips over the hair on Craig’s chest, following the soft dark growth to his deep navel.

“An inny,” Luke smiles as he pushes his finger into the umbilical scar.

Craig laughs and seeks out Luke’s navel. “An outy,” whispers back, trailing his fingers down to his cock, over the sticky slick head, along the thick tendon that runs underneath.

Luke fans his hand at the back of Craig’s head, pulling him down to kiss as he draws him closer. Craig gathers him to his body in strong embrace, his arms tightly wound around, the familiar hunger tingling through his mouth, that feeling that he can’t get close enough, can’t taste deep enough.

Luke draws his face back. “Shall we?” he asks knowingly.

Craig wants to throw Luke over his shoulder again. He feels helpless, chained to him.

“Not in the bathroom,” he smiles back, still looking for Luke’s mouth. It’s wet with kisses, swollen and soft.

“Not at your age,” Luke agrees.

Tonight was their best yet, long, drawn out, Luke more confident and experimental, taking his time as he roamed all over Craig, directing Craig to what he wanted, asking Craig where to go, how to get there.

And when they had spent each other twice over they lay staring into each other’s eyes, completely certain.

Luke leans over and takes Craig’s hand, holds it to his face, his eyes closed.

“I love you so much,” he says finally.

Craig can feel it all over him, it sets hooks in his skin and heart and mind, thousands of tiny blood red marks that he feels which ever way he moves.

“I love you too,” he says plainly, sending the hooks out to Luke and knotting them together.

Day Twenty-One

Luke wakes up to the sound of spatterings and the smell of things frying. He is immediately hungry, and wanders down stairs in Craig’s tshirt and briefs to investigate.

“I was going to bring it up to you,” Craig says brightly. “Fry up.”

It tastes just as good in the kitchen.

They discuss their plans – or lack thereof – as they change the sheets later in the morning.

“I love winter Sundays,” Luke says as he pulls last week’s pillowcases away. He tosses it over Craig’s head and it lands on the old sheet near the door.

“I love any day when I don’t have to go to work,” Craig answers. He flaps the fresh clean sheet out in front of him, it billows out clean and straight and settles on the bed. Luke helps him tuck it in.

“We should go out and do nothing,” Luke suggests. He thinks about that idea after he’s spoken. “You know what I mean.”

“Not really,” Craig says with kind face as he smooth the sheet down.

“Well, you know, get dressed, leave the car here, walk somewhere. Maybe go and see a movie. Or have lunch down the pub and come back here and watch one of the DVDs we’re not going to watch.”

“Okay. A walk would be nice. Pub lunch would be great.”

The talk and laugh as they walk, discuss important things, solve some of the problems of the world, discover they both want to clean up the neighbour’s courtyard, stop briefly and see what’s playing at the Empire cinema.

“Let’s have lunch first,” Craig recommends.

“You hungry?”

“I want a drink!”

Luke imagines the idea of them clinking their glasses together for the first time. Cheers, good luck, here’s to us.

“Let’s get a drink, then.”

They’re talking about champagne when they walk past the pet shop.

“Craig,” Luke says, reaching out and touching his hand. “Look! Duddles!”

They stop and look at the display in the pet shop window. There’s a small wading pool, and the innovative owner has set up a little slide that lands into the water. Eight ducklings are wondering around as part of the display, little yellow fellows with tiny unformed wings they keep trying to stretch, perfect little flat ochre beaks, bright wary eyes. One by one they walk up the little ramp and skid down the slide straight into the water. Some are graceful, some are frightened and disorientated, some try to run against the slide, away from the water.

Luke and Craig watch the infant birds, delighted at their antics, offering critical appraisal after each duckling’s journey.

“He wasn’t even trying,” Craig says as one little duck tumbles in sideways.

“He was good on the stairs, but misjudged the incline,” Luke says after another little duck makes a precarious leap off the edge.

“Funny how they know what to do when they get in,” Craig observes. It’s true, the ducks paddle perfectly when they hit the water, their puffy little bodies graceful and purposeful.

“Oh, look at this show-off,” Luke says a slightly older duckling walks confidently up the ramp. “That’s the Sarge duck!”

Craig grins. “He knows what he’s doing.”

The Sarge duck slips effortlessly down the slide and lands easily in the artificial pond.

The window opens from the other side and the pet shop owner slips in four new ducklings.

“They must have duck factory out the back,” Luke says, worried.

Oh look out, Craig thinks gravely. There’s the Ashton duck.

One of the newcomers is snappy and frightened, clacking at any bird unfortunate to be close to him. He stumbles over to the steps and makes his way up to the slide without even realising where he’s going.

“I’m not very happy about this,” Luke says as he watches the new duck.

“We could have a situation on our hands,” Craig agrees.

They both watch nervously as the Ashton duck wanders onto the slide and plummets down to the water, confused, his nubbly little wing stumps flapping, his tiny webbed feet unsteady beneath him. He lands with an undignified splash, but after the initial shock of finding himself in the pond, gets his little legs paddling and charts a smooth course through the water.

“He did okay for a first timer!” Craig watches the little duck that still seems a bit surprised to discover he is in fact a water bird. “I hope he’ll be alright.”

“He’ll be fine,” Luke says with confidence. He squeezes Craig’s hand and looks straight into his eyes with such love. “He’ll get used to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Excuse the lack of summary, in order to get these fictions up i currently don't have time to read every single one.  
> Feel free to comment a summary and i will post it up, if i don't get around it it first later. Thanks.


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